《Legend of the Crystal Borne: Wielders of Lightning》


 Prologue: The Crystal Wars

    <h1>Prologue: The Crystal Wars</h1>


    36th year of the 3rd Recording of Time, Month of Cold


    The snow fell softly that night, dotting the darkened sky with thousands of frozen flurries. The mountains that covered much of Melcania¡¯s landscape were cold and harsh, regardless of the season, their peaks always hidden beneath a covering of snow. Any rational person would have avoided the area altogether, sticking to the southern valley which was suitable for livestock and crops. These mountains, however, contained a wealth of various resources: gold and copper, but mainly iron.


    It was for this reason that Billins was out here, in the heart of the mountain range, roughly 700 feet beneath the surface of their most recent mine with 2 dozen other frostbitten miners. None of them wanted to be here, freezing to death in some frozen hole in the ground, just so the fat merchants could get their hands on some iron, and the filthy nobles could line their pockets with a little gold. But it was good money, so most of the men kept the grumbling to a minimum.


    Billins yawned, he was too tired to complain anyway. He grasped his pickaxe tighter in his hands, his gloves doing little to warm his stiff fingers. Billins lifted the heavy tool over his head and, pausing to yawn again, brought it down on a fresh patch of wall he was working on. The pick struck the unyielding surface solidly, chipping away a small chunk of rock about the size of a fist. He sighed, and continued the monotonous repetition of swinging and hitting, swinging and hitting.


    Billins swore under his breath, his back breaking from the unceasing strain. He took a moment to rest, leaning against an adjacent support beam. He yawned again, looking tiredly at the wall that was just as solid as it had been over an hour ago. Billins grabbed his pickaxe and went back to the wall. He lifted the axe over his head, continuing the tedium of mining, when something peculiar caught his eye. Something was wrong with the stone.


    Putting his pickaxe aside, he got down on his knees and looked closer at the wall. He brushed away a little dirt and there it was. The patch of wall, exposed from beneath the dirt, was glowing a brilliant blue.


    ¡°Hey, you guys should come see this!¡±, Billins called to a few nearby workers, who were more than happy to find an excuse to stop mining. They lumbered over, scratching their heads as they gawked at the glowing wall. No one knew at the time of what significance this would have for the future of the humble mountain nation of Melcania.


    102nd year of the 3rd Recording of Time, Month of Harvest


    The city of Highkeep, capital city of the Melcanian Kingdom, rested at the base of the mountains, protected on all sides but one by their stony embrace. Not many nations had time to bother with such a small Kingdom, but in recent years the Melcanians had uncovered a new resource, and although none knew of what power it possessed, rumors of magic crystals that glowed blue as the sea caused stirrings in the neighboring realms.


    The winds of Summer blew gently through the castle gardens of Highkeep, swaying the branches of willow and birch trees and causing the mountain flowers to dance. The air was dry but remained cold despite the season, a curse shared by all kingdoms that lied this far North. It was here that King Celarys could be found, musing amongst the beauty of the gardens, his mind laid heavy with thoughts of his kingdom, yet finding peace in the flowers. He was a young man of only 50 years of age, the hairs of his blackened beard not yet touched with grey, his pearl skin, unique to the people of the North, untarnished from age.


    Celarys knelt near the stream that divided the space, unconcerned for his royal garments, and stared hard into his reflection in the water. He saw his father in the reflection, he often came to him for guidance, for the souls of the dead lived on in the reflections of the living.


    ¡°I know not what to do, father.¡± Spoke Celarys to the reflection, as intently as if he were speaking to ghosts of the past. ¡°We have crystals mined from the Westward mountains, crystals which glow blue. The philosophers think these crystals might hold some sort of power, yet I know not.¡± He sighed, the reflection sighed back, sharing his frustration. ¡°We are keeping all that we have gathered locked inside the treasury, but there are whispers among the southward nations, I fear time wanes for our kingdom, for our people, if we do not unlock the potential of the crystals, if we wait for the clash of swords, the hailing of arrows.¡± His eyes watered, and he instinctively covered his eyes with his hand, not wanting the reflection, which was his father, to see him cry.


    ¡°You were a good king, Father, better than I. I was but a boy when I took the throne. It was too soon, too soon for this kingdom to lose you. You would know what to do.¡± He knelt there for a long time in silence, his eyes closed, listening to the wind, for one could hear the dead in the wind, if one was patient, if one was worthy. The sun sank over the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with yellow and orange, all saturated in a crimson that burned like the gates of hell. The wind picked up, blowing through the garden, whispering in the young king¡¯s ears. Take the crystals to the nation in the East¡­ Cross the waters¡­


    126th year of the 3rd Recording of Time, Month of Sun


    Geargandi was a hard land, harsh and unforgiving to those who did not know it. Settled by philosophers and alchemists outcasted from other nations during the time of religious cleansing, it had only managed to thrive as a nation due to the sciences that had been shunned by those nations. Sciences which helped crops to grow, brought forth water from the ground, and allowed for life in a place where life was thought impossible. The Geargandians stood at the pinnacle of research and development, their entire nation devoted to progress as opposed to gods. It was here, in this land to the East of the Merchant waters, that the Melcanians sent crystals of blue to be studied, researched by alchemists far greater than any in the West.


    It took time, but it was discovered that the crystals held an intense power, power many in the world would claim to be of the gods, but the cold, rational minds of the Geargandians regarded the crystals as batteries, containers that held something they called lightning. With this in mind, the crystals were henceforth known as Lightning Crystals.


    The potential of the lightning crystals was virtually limitless, and through further research and experimentation the Geargandians believed they could unlock the mysteries of Divisia, that the very world itself could be bent and shaped. The Geargandians coveted the lightning crystals, but were wise enough to know that diplomacy was far more efficient than war¡­ and of course, less messy. An agreement amongst the nations was made, the Melcanians would mine the crystals from their lands, and the Geargandians would continue their experiments, sharing their findings. And thus the alliance between Melcania and Geargandi was born.


    200th year of the 3rd Recording of Time, Month of Heart


    The first considerable empire that the world would know, would be that of the Evgnasians. A great land, one of power, one of wisdom, wealth, and endurance, an empire that had stood since the First Recording of Time, for it was the Evgnasians of the North that would be the first to write down our years. They were progressive, exemplars of cultural refinement, the heart of all trade to be had in the Northern Continent, and their great influence can still be felt in Divisia to this day, from the calendar that marks our days, to the titles given to lords and monarchs, to the fork that you eat your meals with, and though the coins be melted down and recaste with the markings of a new land, they are of the same metal still.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Before their fall, the Empire of Evgnas had stood in the Gods¡¯ favor for the space of 1400 years, and they went with their strength, guided by their will. However, all things must end, and even the will of the Gods¡¯ can shift, and so it was with the Evgnasians. The Empire of Evgnas lied in the heart of the Northern Continent, bordered to the north, south, and east by many smaller nations. Due to this placement, it was nearly impossible to conduct trade in the land without going through the lands of Evgnas, and they used this to their advantage. Heavy tariffs and unfair trade agreements had benefited the Evgnasians for centuries, causing them to grow fat whilst the lands around them struggled to make profit. This stranglehold of the Northern Continent, this disrespect to their kings and lands, caused much tension in the land, but for years none had dared to do more than grumble, for who could stand against the empire?


    However, grumblings soon turned to hostilities, when, in the 200th year of the 3rd Recording of Time, the Northern lands united as one under the Melcanians, forming a great northern kingdom. With promises of equality for all, and for fair, unbiased trade with all nations, they Marched South to the lands of Evgnas, confident in new technologies of war gifted to them by way of the Geargandians...


    230th year of the 3rd Recording of Time, Month of Song


    The old walls of the ancient city fell, walls that had stood since the first recording of time crushed beneath the force of the Melcanians¡¯ war machines. Machines wrapped in plates of iron, machines that ran off lightning and belched fire and steel. Arrows could not harm the iron chariots, and swords and horses were forfeit in the field against the storm of metal the beasts brought forth.


    With one final push the indomitable wave of rolling iron spilled into the city, the great city of Anthos, the city that had stood for 2000 years. What little defending force remained gathered outside the Imperial palace, broken, wounded knights, standing firm, shields raised, swords in hand, determined to protect their emperor. They were slaughtered, bygone warriors of a bygone age, for now was the age of lightning, and nothing could stop those who wielded it.


    With a thunderous symphony of cannon fire the palace imploded in on itself and fell into nothing, taking the emperor with it. Marbled halls graced with golden beauty and crystaled elegance, tapestries as old as Anthos itself, the throne of the king of kings, surrounded by walls of stained glass¡­ gone. The Melcanians cheered, for victory was theirs, the war that had consumed nations was at an end. With the capture of Anthos, the ancient empire of Evgnas was scattered and erased, and the Melcanian Empire rose in its place.


    ¡­


    306th year of the 3rd Recording of Time, Month of Sun


    For a time after the Melcanians¡¯ victory over the Evgnasians, there was peace in the land. For the space of 3 emperors, 76 years of prosperity, cultural development, and relative equality amongst the lands and people of the North. That is, until the third emperor, Emperor Timaeus, died under questionable circumstances, and his son, the loathsome Prince Avarus, claimed the Imperial throne amidst whispers and speculations.


    Avarus was a man of exceeding beauty, with eyes like azure fire, fair, flawless pearled skin, hair as black as a raven¡¯s wing, and as luscious and soft as southern silk. However, this glorious beauty, this physical perfection embodied by the man, was a mask, covering a wretched soul, a foul, ugly, beast of a man, prone to wrath, and consumed with pride and greed. He had stood by and watched for years as his father spurned the potential of the Empire, as the emperors before him had, on the foolish ideology of peace and equality for all. They had the strength and wealth to expand their borders, the war machines necessary to lay hold of the North, to unify the entire continent under one banner, the banner of the Melcanian Empire.


    And that is why, days after his coronation, Emperor Avarus made an official declaration throughout all the Northern Continent, sending messages to every nation, kingdom, and land, a message which read simply, Join the Empire or die. When the letters were returned unanswered, Avarus declared war on the entire North¡­ and thrust the Empire into the bloodiest chapter of its history, forever immortalizing Himself as the Emperor of a thousand conflicts.


    In addition to his grand ambitions for expansion and conquest, Avarus also turned his sights inward, seeking to strengthen what he viewed to be a polluted and undermined empire, weakened by the ideologies and policies of emperors past, and by the acceptance of foreign filth and alien cultures. Melcania¡¯s banners of blue and red were stripped from the walls and replaced with the colors of black, and gold. The Mountain Finch, a humble little bird, was removed as their symbol, and replaced with the great Stone Raven, the terror of the northern skies. Many noble families were thrown from court and executed for suspicions of disloyalty or grievance towards the emperor. A professional army was formed, the first grand army of Melcania, a permanent and well trained fighting force, for Avarus would no longer entrust the empire¡¯s security and expansion to unwashed peasants who knew not the weight of a sword. Lastly, he began construction of a new capital in what he viewed as the heart of the North, the center of all lands in the continent. A colossal expanse of stone spanning for miles, a shining jewel which he would name after himself, and rightly so, for the man¡¯s pride is as much a part of that city as the stone itself, seeping from the masonry like a testament to Emperor Avarus, the man who forged the True Melcania.


    With his lands now washed of filth and sedition, Avarus marched his army east, determined to acquire the wealth of trade brought by the Golden Gulf. 40,000 men descended upon the nations of Fahrin, Gavves, and Holdi, and the armored wagons of Geargandian design fired death upon armies still relying on wooden siege engines and antiquated tactics that had no place in this war. They fell within weeks¡­ After this terrifying show of power, many kings threw themselves upon ground, kissed the feet of Avarus, and willingly joined the empire. All that remained was the Southern Valleys, and the nation of Tor to the furthest reaches of the Northeast. There was nothing in Tor but ice and shit, and the valleys had connections of trade to the lower continents, and was greatly rich in lightning crystals¡­ Avarus marched the army South, bringing with him the fury of the North¡­


    ¡­


    404th year of the 3rd Recording of Time, Month of Giving


    The war that Avarus had so envisioned, the conquest that he had desired, lasted nearly a hundred years. The South did not prove so easily defeated as the east, and with the development of their own lightning powered vehicles and weapons, brought the fighting to a near equal footing, slowing the Empire¡¯s gross advancement considerably. Many thousands of men died in the defense of lands and in the conquest of lands and for simply standing in the wrong lands. Over the space of 5 emperors, would this war continue, a brutal conflict that became known as the Crystal War, for never before had lightning met against lightning, never before had the power of the crystals been truly released. would for a time it seemed that the South might hold¡­ until the skies darkened¡­


    New machines born from the godless minds of the Geargandian philosophers came to the battlefield, or rather¡­ they flew over it¡­ Ships¡­ flying ships, sailing overhead, hopelessly out of reach, raining death from above. Large ships as big as galleons, floating sluggishly overhead with the help of air filled sacks, strong, powerful, armed with cannons and bombs to obliterate the ground. Small ships, made of wood with wings of cloth, flying fast, striking the enemy with explosives before vanishing just as fast.


    The South had no answer for this new horror of war, and were slaughtered in the thousands, half a dozen nations falling in the space of 5 years. Melcania¡¯s conquest was once again unchallenged, and it would have continued as such, if it had not been for the son of the 8th emperor, Emperor Aethelwold, who, in the waking horror of a war with no end, stabbed his father through his chest whilst he slept, becoming the 9th emperor, Emperor Justain. His first official act was an immediate ceasefire in the Southern Campaign, pulling his armies back to the North, and ending the war that had laid waste to so much, to the war that had changed the very face of the land, and redrawn every map that existed. The whole world rejoiced, not just in the Northern Continent, but in the Southern lands, the Eastern reaches beyond the waters, and the Midlands lying between them all. Peace had been restored, and all were glad, all were merry¡­ and some yet still looked upon the horizon in worry... for how long can peace truly last?

 Chapter One: Fall of Valtroy

    <h1>Chapter One: Fall of Valtroy</h1>


    51st year of the 4th Recording of time, Month of Storms


    The sky over Valtroy was choked with smoke as down below the city burned. The black, snake like tendrils twisted and weaved, stretching ever higher into the sky, collecting into a mask that covered everything in the city, turning the day into night.


    Buildings collapsed, toppled over like children¡¯s toys as artillery fired indiscriminately, destroying homes, markets, and anything else unfortunate enough to lie inside the city walls. Panic reigned throughout the streets as citizens who were not crushed by fallen debris or blown apart by artillery literally trampled each other trying to find somewhere safe. City guards ran like frightened rabbits as panicked officers tried to get a handle on the situation.


    ¡°Fall back! Fall back! Get to the Lower District!¡± One of them yelled, trying to direct the mob. None of them knew what to do, nothing had prepared them for this level of brutal devastation.


    Outside the city was no better. An enormous host of Melcanian soldiers and siege machines thundered against the walls with rifles, cannons, and all manner of weapons. Airships swarmed like locusts, bombing and destroying everything. The proud Kgnaskan fleet fired salvos from the water in counterattack, trying to bring down the flying horde, but did so in vain. The ships were caught on both sides, hit from the airships above, and the Melcanian warships moving in from the East. Torn asunder by a hurricane of explosives and hot steel, the Kgnaskan navy burned, their dying carcasses belching smoke as one by one they erupted into flames and fell beneath the waves. What little was left of Kgnaskan ground forces had already pulled back into the city, completely overwhelmed by the oppressive force that was the Empire¡¯s wrath. The outer wall would not hold forever, not with the gods themselves hammering against them, the only thing to do now was to dig deeper into the city.


    People flocked outside the gates to the Lower District, pushing, shoving, screaming, desperately trying to find sanctuary behind another wall, but the gates had been sealed. Guards struggled to retain order, pushing back the crowd, overrun by the sea of bodies pressing against them.


    ¡°Let us in you foggy bogarts!¡± screamed a large man in front, taking a swing at one of the guards, only to be hit across the face with a rifle.


    ¡°Oh my god! Oh my god! We¡¯re going to die out here! Let us in!¡± Cried a woman holding a child, frantically trying to push her way through.


    ¡°There¡¯s nowhere left to go! The city is surrounded!¡± Hollered a man further back. A skittish officer, a boy younger than his uniform, drew his flint rifle on the crowd.


    ¡°G-get back! Get back! There¡¯s n-no more room! T-the lower District is already overcrowded as it is! I¡¯m s-s-sorry!¡± He stammered, shaking so hard that he couldn¡¯t hold his weapon steady.


    ¡°Officer Hollann, that is quite enough.¡± said a man in a well worn uniform, one which had the colors of authority. Everyone in the crowd immediately stopped pushing, going silent, all eyes on the man that walked through their midst, a large collection of soldiers in tow behind him. Hollann snapped to, nearly dropping his gun as he hastily gave a salute.


    ¡°C-commander B-beckett.¡± The commander gave a nod, not paying Hollann much mind, instead surveying the throng of people gathered outside the gate.


    ¡°Officer Hollann, what are all these people still doing in the Upper District?¡± demanded Beckett, indicating the crowd. Hollann opened his mouth to speak but was cut off. ¡°Open the gates immediately, have your men send these people through in an organized fashion, women and children first, then you and the rest of the guard move into the lower district to defend the civilians. My soldiers and I will hold the gate.¡± Officer Hollann stared vacantly at the commander. ¡°Am I clear?¡± Beckett¡¯s words were sharp, final, uncompromising.


    ¡°Y-yes sir! Ok you lot, you heard the commander, open the gates.¡± His men hesitated, trading nervous glances. ¡°Oy, you heard me, open the bleedin gates!¡± His men complied and slowly the gates began to creak open, inch by inch, pulling apart with groaning protest. They began moving the crowd through the growing gap one at a time, an agonizingly stagnant process that left thousands on the wrong side of the wall.


    Suddenly there was a thundering rumble, one that shook the entire upper district of Valtroy, crumpling buildings and collapsing streets nowhere near the source of destruction. The doors stopped, the guards pale as they looked out from their towers, seeing what only they could see. Everyone stood in utter stillness, faces frozen in horrifying cognizance. The north wall had fallen¡­ The Melcanians were inside.


    ¡°OH MY GOD!! WE¡¯RE GOING TO DIE!!!¡± Screamed a woman in the crowd, shattering the trance that had fallen upon everyone. With all the force of a thousand pressing, shoving bodies, the gates groaned and shattered, people trampling each other, crushing themselves into stone and steel in desperate hope of escape.


    ¡­


    Dalton sprinted through the streets, trying to stay ahead of the chaos that was quickly following him ever deeper into the city. In his arms he carried the child, Prince Ryan, King Gregory¡¯s son and heir. The king¡¯s final order, protect his son, save him from the Emperor''s wrath. He would provide them with time. Sealing himself within the keep, King Gregory had blown the bridges that connected the keep to the surrounding cliff face, isolating himself atop the great plateau that laid in the center of the city. The castle had stood for a thousand years, it was strong and sure, and as hard as the stone it rested upon; The Melcanians would go through hell to take it now. While the majority of their forces were distracted capturing the castle, Dalton had time to escape to the water.


    Rubble fell from overhead as explosions rocked the upper district, the very cliffs themselves crumbling down upon the streets, houses, and lower markets, burying everything beneath stone and dirt and the shattered remains of buildings. People ran down the descending incline at breakneck speeds, tripping over each other, trampling one another, desperately fleeing to the beach as the world fell down around them. The royal navy was out the East gates, valiantly defending the city, they would be safe, they had to be¡­ there was nowhere else to go.


    An old woman shoved past Dalton, nearly causing him to fall down the sloping street. No sooner had she done so when the half of the second story of a building fell from above, crushing the woman and a half dozen people in front of him. Dalton stood in horror and shock at the level of brutal destruction all around him, would there be anything left when this was over? More people pressed from behind, shoving him forward, and he continued. He held the child close to him, praying to the gods to deliver them to the beach.


    ¡­


    Commander Beckett¡¯s men were gathered outside the broken, twisted gates to the Lower District, less than a thousand tired, worn soldiers, holding ground behind hastily prepared barricades of rubble and broken bodies. If they failed to stop the Melcanians here, they would spill down into the canyon like a wave, raze what was left of the city, and corner the remaining survivors against the water. Few would be spared. Beckett shuddered at the thought. The noise of death and destruction drew nearer, and Beckett could see the men losing their nerve, their hands trembling as they struggled to grip their rifles, some clutching their heads in their hands, cowering behind the barricades. This would not hold long, Beckett knew that much, but he would die before he gave the Melcanian dogs so much as an inch more of this city. Beckett drew his sword.


    ¡°Hold!¡± The thunderous sound of boots on pavement was almost on top of them. Screams started and died in echoing gunfire, leaving only the stamping footfalls of what must have been 100,000 men.


    ¡°Hold!¡± The Melcanians rounded the street corners on both sides, surrounding them, gods there were so many of them. They charged towards their defensive line, roaring like the very demons of hell, their blackened armor glinting in the light of the burning city despite the smoke enshrouded darkness. Some of Beckett¡¯s men threw down their rifles and fled the army of hell, only to be cut down by a hail of bullets. Beckett stood firm, unflinching even as shots came within inches of hitting him.


    ¡°DIE A COWARD SOAKING IN YOUR OWN PISS OR DIE DEFENDING THE CITY YOU LOVE FROM SOULLESS MELCANIAN DEVILS WHO WANT TO TAKE IT FROM YOU! IN THE NAME OF MY KING, IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING, KING GREGORY THE FIRST OF KGNASKA! HOLD! THIS! GROUND!¡± The men behind him rallied, finding new courage, firing into the enemy ranks. The Melcanians collided with the defensive line like an iron fist, but the line held.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    The Melcanians cursed and spat, shot and stabbed, but the Kgnaskans had them at a bottleneck, forcing the blackened horde to come at them in a restricted space, precisely to Beckett¡¯s strategy. With the wall at their backs and the gate towers to their sides the numbers of the horde were for naught, and the devils fell in multitude, massing upon the ground in heaps. Still, Beckett¡¯s men were outnumbered more than 20 to 1, but as long as they could hold the line, as long as they could refuse the Melcanians the opportunity to flank them, they had a chance.


    ¡­


    Dalton ran down out of the city through the broken walls of the destroyed beachside gates. This side of the city had fared no better, the waters a burning graveyard of shattered ships, all along the beach were the broken, mangled bodies of soldiers and civilians. Foolish individuals that thought it safer to flee to the water, flee to the waiting arms of the Melcanian navy and air forces, only to be slaughtered in the open ground. Dalton did his best to conceal himself alongside the cliffs and sprinted past the carnage to the ship waiting for him at the end of the beach, hidden, just barely, within a small alcove along the cliff face.


    A portly man with an aging beard stood impatiently on the deck, chewing the end of a pipe. Waltt stopped when he saw Dalton, pulling the pipe out of his mouth and pointing at him.


    ¡°Oy, what took you so long?¡± Waltt grumbled. ¡°Been sitting here for the better part of two hours waiting for ya, gods be good that I didn''t get spotted by these Melcanian Snapper Fish out here.¡± He coughed, covering his mouth with his arm, then spat onto the deck.


    ¡°The city¡¯s gone to hell.¡± Gasped Dalton, still catching his breath. ¡°Just be thankful I came at all.¡± He brushed past Waltt and headed below deck with the child, surprisingly still asleep in his arms, whatever they had given him must have been strong stuff. He laid the boy down on a bed in the cabin and then came back onto the deck. Waltt was waiting for him, continuing the profuse chewing of his pipe.


    ¡°The boy?¡± He asked without looking at Dalton, keeping his gaze on the burning city. Dalton did not answer him at first, and went to getting the ship ready to make way. He sighed, but did not slow his efforts.


    ¡°He¡¯s fine, just needs to sleep.¡± Said Dalton, lowering the sail. Waltt nodded his head absentmindedly and proceeded to stuff his pipe into his pocket. He untied the rope securing the boat to the cliff face and then helped Dalton get the sail lowered.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe it¡¯s come to this,¡± said Waltt, grunting in effort. Dalton¡¯s expression remained stoic.


    ¡°I can.¡±


    ¡­


    Dalton maneuvered the ship as carefully as he could, doing his best to keep far enough away from the coast so as to not be seen by wandering eyes, yet not straying too far into the deep waters that grew ugly this time of year. For now the waters were calm, but that could change in seconds. The Month of Storms was the worst time for sailing, the seas transforming into great, gaping maws of death, waiting to devour anything foolish enough to venture off the coast. Only the truly brave, the extremely stupid, or the ultimately desperate would attempt a long distance voyage during this time. Yet, they had their orders, and Dalton would never betray his king.


    They were to sail 3 days time southward, to the nation of Lithia. The Lithians were allies to the people of Kgnaska, good and trustworthy, their country lying south of the mountains that divided their nations. The prince would be safe there for the time being, until arrangements could be made to bring him to the city of Evermir, to be safeguarded by the Eubeans of the Southern jungle lands.


    Dalton sighed; everything was so complicated now. He remembered a time when there was peace, but that seemed but a dream now, as they sailed for their lives in an ocean that could swallow them whenever it felt need to, only to avoid a worse fate if they were to be captured by Melcanian warships. He looked out over the horizon, keeping an eye out for storms, wishing more and more they had taken a sturdier vessel.


    The Marie Ann was not well built, though Waltt would argue otherwise, and was less than 40 hand lengths long, just large enough for a single sail, and a small sleeping cabin towards the back of the ship. Even a ship twice, no, three times their size, would be taken if a storm passed over them. But a larger vessel would have brought attention, and subtlety was of the essence.


    ¡°Have you eaten anything yet?¡± Asked Waltt, appearing suddenly at his shoulder. Dalton almost flinched, he had been so focused on the sky he had not even noticed the large man¡¯s approach, he was losing his edge. Dalton shook his head.


    ¡°No, I haven¡¯t eaten anything since this morning, been a little distracted with the world going to shit.¡± Dalton said. He looked over at Waltt, smiling for the first time since coming aboard. ¡°But I wouldn¡¯t refuse a bite, I feel as though my insides will start eating themselves if I don¡¯t put something in them.¡± It was not that funny, but Waltt laughed anyway, a deep rolling laugh reserved for fat men. He slapped Dalton on the back.


    ¡°Glad to see you have some humor in ya. Hold here, I got some salted beef in the storage hatch.¡± Waltt turned and walked down the short stairs to the main deck, momentarily disappearing from sight. He returned after a pause with a couple paper wrapped packages, smelling of meat and held together neatly with string. He tossed one of them to Dalton, who caught it in one hand while keeping the other on the helm. Dalton ripped open the side of the package with his teeth and proceeded to bite off a large hunk of beef. He smiled, the meat was a bit old, and over salted, but he had eaten worse, and the food was welcome after a day in hell. He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. Dalton looked out over the horizon again, and his chewing slowed. His brow furrowed as he watched the black clouds quickly forming off the port side of the ship. They were a ways off, barely visible on the horizon, but Dalton knew better than to tempt fate. He turned the ship to starboard, putting the sails to the wind, and prayed that they could outrun the devil. It was no use, however, as their ship was overtaken by the storm, the water that had been calm and lazy quickly becoming enraged and violent as the gods themselves battled overhead.


    The Marie Ann dipped and bobbed, a splinter of wood in a vast ocean, every toss of the sea threatening to pull the vessel under. The rain fell relentlessly against the deck, pounding at the wood like millions of tiny fists, and the frozen wind blew like the breath of Galryn himself. Dalton and Waltt fought to keep the ship sailing, but neither of them had ever seen a storm of this size.


    ¡°It¡¯s no good! We have to get the sail out of the wind!¡± Cried Waltt over the gale, his hands slipping as he struggled to pull on the ropes. Another wave surged over the side of the deck, knocking Waltt over. The rope released but Dalton caught it just in time and kept pulling. ¡°The ship is being torn apart! We have to get to shore!¡± Sputtered Waltt, getting back on his feet, only to be knocked off balance again by another heave of the sea. Dalton stood firm against the howling tempest.


    ¡°No! We have to reach Lithia! We will not fail our king!¡± He barked, but Waltt was not paying attention to him, not anymore. He stood there, slack faced, staring past Dalton. Dalton turned around and saw the Sea rising up to meet them, a wave, higher and wider than the cliffs of Valtroy, their ship, a splinter of wood in the way of a god. Dalton released the ropes, the sails did not matter now, and pushed past Waltt to the ship¡¯s cabin. Despite the roar of the storm he could hear the man uttering a sailor¡¯s prayer as he passed him. He found the child hiding in the corner, holding onto the bed for support. Dalton quickly grabbed the boy and, with expert swiftness, tied themselves together with the bed¡¯s blanket. He laid down on the bed and held the crying child tightly.


    ¡°Shhh, it¡¯s ok, everything is going to be fine.¡± Dalton whispered. Then the ship was hit with the full force of the sea.


    ¡­


    Dalton awoke with a start, lurching up in bed before falling back down in intense pain. Every part of him felt as though it had been beaten with hammers and set on fire, he could not even open his eyes without painful consequence. His breathing came labored, and his teeth clenched so tightly that it was a miracle they did not break. Through the agony Dalton could hear voices, what sounded like a man and a woman, but it was unclear, the pounding in his head making it hard to focus.


    ¡°... told you we needed to¡­ a real doctor.¡±


    ¡°He would¡¯ve¡­ before¡­ What were we supposed to do?¡±


    ¡°Need medicine¡­ Infection¡¯s spreading¡­ Told you to cut higher.¡± Dalton tried to hear more, but the pain in his head was too much, gods his throat was dry. Water, he needed water. He reached out with his hand, fumbling blindly, and found a table next to his bed. He knocked something off the table, something that hit the ground with the sound of broken glass. This got the voices¡¯ attention, for suddenly there were hands at his side, gentle, calming, the hands of a woman.


    ¡°Shhh, shhh, it¡¯s ok, you¡¯re alright.¡± She said, her voice was soft, light, it sounded pretty. She put her hand on the back of his head and Dalton felt something being pressed against his lips, the cool refresh of water. Dalton drank deeply, he had forgotten how good it felt to drink something, anything to wet the desert that had formed inside of him. ¡°There you go, that¡¯s good, you¡¯re doing good.¡± When he had finished, she laid his head back down and set the glass on the table beside him. ¡°You rest now, I¡¯m going to get you some more water, maybe a broom to clean this glass off the floor.¡±


    Dalton heard her walk away, still unable to open his eyes, still in incredible pain. He felt like a man with a foot in the grave, and another about to fall in, but he could not help but think that he was forgetting something, something.... Something important¡­ but he could not quite rem- THE CHILD. PRINCE RYAN! WHERE WAS PRINCE RYAN!? Dalton forgot all about his pain, gritting through it as he summoned all of his strength, bolting up in his bed and forcing himself to stand with nothing short of miraculous will power. He lost his balance immediately and fell over, he tried to stand but he could not, Writhing on the floor like a fish gasping for air. Dalton reached down and confirmed his fear¡­ His leg¡­ His leg was gone. He released an almost inhuman howl of pain and frustration. He could hear running, the woman again, and another person, a man?


    ¡°What in the gods? Brutus, grab hold of him, hold him still.¡± There were hands at Dalton¡¯s side again, more forceful this time, the hands of a man. Dalton struggled, but gave in quickly, defeated. He had failed, he had failed his king. The hands lifted him back onto the bed, the woman said some things to him, words meant to calm and comfort him, but Dalton did not hear them. His mind was occupied by one thing, there was no room for anything else. He had failed, the child was gone, he had failed, the child was gone, he had failed¡­ the child was gone.

 Chapter Two: King of the Ashes

    Chapter Two: King of the Ashes


    The Melcanians had won, Valtroy laid in ruins, but that was not a surprise to anybody. The fighting that had all but consumed the city was finally over. The area outside of Valtroy was as quiet as a tomb, and it had essentially become as such. Everywhere on the ground were the littered corpses of both Melcanian and Kgnaskan alike, their flesh now a food source for the flies and carrion birds now swarming the area. The smell was unbearable, and workers toiled endlessly to gather the dead before rot and disease could set in.


    None of this seemed to bother Emperor Alric, who appeared more annoyed by the Summer¡¯s heat than he was by the horrors of war. He was a young man, no older than 30, with long curled hair, black as night like the true Melcanian he was, his pearled skin seeming practically translucent in the bright sunlight. Being short of stature, and slender to the point of frailty, the emperor would have almost appeared sickly, if it had not been for his eyes¡­ those eyes. Eyes cold and sharp as ice, and blue as the lightning crystals themselves. They betrayed an intelligence and maturity far above his years, and one look from them was enough to unsettle most men, for he was not one to be disrespected or trifled with.


    Alric had never been this far south before, his father having led the previous Kgnaskan invasion, and it was clear that he did not care for the climate. He was not dressed for the sands, layered in royal Melcanian garments, Black and gold, the colors of the empire. Regardless of his obvious discomfort, Alric betrayed no signs of weakness, refusing to even remove his cloak, as if in defiance to the sun.


    The Emperor walked rather casually through the field of corpses and burned out wreckage, as one would going through a garden, gently holding a handkerchief to his nose to ward off the awful stench. With him was a small collection of guards and Kliin, the general he had put in charge of the invasion.


    ¡°General Kliin, tell me something.¡± Said Alric, almost with a yawn. ¡°If we¡¯ve won, and the city is mine¡­ Then why am I not able to enter MY castle?¡±. Although it was said in the way of a bored child there was a hint of impatient frustration in his tone. Kliin paid no mind to the young Emperor¡¯s lack of royal pose, though the old man himself was more than a little stiff, formal to the point of redundancy.


    ¡°My Emperor, the coward king of this nation blew the bridges to the keep, isolating it from our ground forces. As I¡¯m sure you¡¯re grace is well aware, much of the city is built up on the cliff, with the castle sitting on a plateau in the city¡¯s center. Without those bridges the only way we can approach the keep is from the air and it¡¯s proving difficult, the castle was not designed for landing airships.¡± Kliin sighed, ¡°If you would simply allow me to blow out the base of the plateau¡­¡± Alric held up his hand.


    ¡°No Kliin, as much as I respect your tactics and your effectiveness at war, I do not want the castle destroyed. Knocking over that plateau would bury the Lower District. No, I want this king alive at my feet, him, and his whore wife.¡± He spat, clenching his handkerchief in his fist. ¡°Continue the assault on the keep, pry it open, I don¡¯t care how many men you have to use, get it done.¡±


    ¡°My Emperor.¡± Said Kliin, bowing respectively before heading back to the city. Alric looked after him a moment, then turned his gaze to the scene of death all around him. He smirked momentarily, before frowning again. He wiped his brow with his handkerchief.


    ¡°Gods it¡¯s hot. One would wonder how these dogs stand this heat.¡±


    ¡­


    It took some doing, but after hours of persistent effort, and several soldiers falling to their deaths, the Melcanians had effectively set up a temporary bridge across the gap between the upper district and the castle¡¯s gateway. All they had to do now was knock.


    ¡°Put your backs into it men! and HEAVE!¡±, cried Captain Ekhart. The foot soldiers hefted the heavy beam between them and, with the force of the empire, struck the gate with a thunderous bwoom, shaking the old doors, loosening the hinges. ¡°AGAIN!¡±. The men brought the beam back and forced it into the door, roaring with effort. ¡°AGAIN! BRING IT DOWN!!¡±, screamed Ekhart. The men swung the beam once more, heaving it into the door like the fist of a god. Wood splintered, hinges gave way, and the old door fell open.


    Before the soldiers could even drop the beam, they were set upon by gunfire, several of them cut down before the rest could find cover. All along the pillars and walls were Kgnaskan soldiers, mud colored uniforms blending into the bricks behind them. This was the last remaining force left to defend the King, there would be no one else.


    The Kgnaskans fired into the Melcanians coming through the doorway defiantly, rifles finding not a moment¡¯s rest as they shot round after round, filling the air with the fog of war. It was a valiant effort, but ultimately futile. The Melcanians poured through the doorway, hundreds of them, quickly overwhelming the resistance. They unleashed a hell of gunfire, painting everything red, the Kgnaskans¡¯ sundered, riddled corpses trampled over by the oppressive Melcanian war machine.


    The Melcanians stormed the castle, eliminating resistance wherever they found it, their blackened armor likening them to a horde of demons as they went room to room, shooting, burning, raping, and pillaging. It was as a scene from Dramthek¡¯s domain, for the fallen god would smile upon such wanton death and bloodshed.


    Emperor Alric strolled through the battered hall, paying no heed to the scene of death all around him. He stepped over the corpses, admiring the stonework of the castle, the banners of a fallen nation. He ran his fingers over the wall, much too relaxed to be walking through the fog of war, the blood soaked floors, the scream echoed halls.


    Alric made his way through the castle, knowing exactly where he was going even without having been here before, for a well built castle revealed all its secrets, if one knew where to look. He placed his hands on a set of ornate double doors at the end of one of the hallways.


    ¡°Ah, here we are¡­¡± Alric said satisfactorily. He pushed the sturdy doors inward flippantly, revealing the great hall, the throne room of a nation on fire. He walked through the room slowly, observing the beauty in the architecture and design.


    Despite the harrows of war ravaging other parts of the castle this room had remained untouched. Beautiful rich brown marble columns stretched to a double ceiling, domed in the center with crystal that let sunlight pour onto a breathtaking muraled floor depicting the sun held in the hands of the great god Solan. The walls were painted with scenes of the desert sands, and hung heavy with the brown and silver banners of Kgnaska. At the end of the spacious room sat the king¡¯s throne, seated high upon a raised platform, in front of a wall with three large banners depicting the cycles of the sun. The throne was simple in outward design, almost small for a king¡¯s seat. It was composed of dark stained wood, and expertly carved with-


    ¡°FOR THE KING!!¡±, screamed a Kgnaskan soldier, running out from behind a column, rifle raised. Alric sighed, more annoyed than anything. The soldier took half a step before Alric reached into his cloak, pulled out an ornate gold inlaid pistol, and shot the man dead.


    ¡°Rude.¡± Alric put the spent pistol back into his cloak, continuing his walk. Confident there would not be any more interruptions, he returned his attention to the throne. The throne was simple in outward design, almost small for a king¡¯s seat. It was composed of dark stained wood, and expertly carved with images depicting the history of the Kgnaskan kingdom, the detail was astounding. Alric ran his fingers over the carvings depicting the end of the First Melcanian Kgnaskan War, the signing of the accords, and grinned, silently amused. His fingers paused over the wedding of King Gregory and Queen Rosaleen and his smile faded. ¡°Where are you?¡± Alric mused. He turned away from the throne, seeing all he cared to, and walked back out of the hall.


    ¡­


    King Gregory and Queen Rosaleen were barricaded inside the castle sanctuary, safeguarded by a handful of soldiers sworn to die for their king. They were trapped, a place of worship and quiet contemplation now a living grave for the damned. All around the room, the statues of the gods looked down upon them with varying mixtures of disdain and pity. Solan, God of Light and father of all, looking disapprovingly at them. Hileen, Mother of Nature and lover of children, watching with sad eyes. Galryn, Lord of the Sea and deliverer of justice, silently judging. Dramthek, the Fallen God, off in the corner with a pleased smile. A dozen other faces, a dozen other judgments.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Gregory held his queen close. He knew not what fate awaited them, but he hoped that they would spare her, by Hileen¡¯s will, he hoped they had that much mercy.


    ¡°Gregory, I fear what will happen.¡± Spoke Rosaleen in hushed tones, as if speaking would reveal them. She turned and looked up at him. ¡°By the gods, why has this fate befallen us? Have we not prayed in their names? Do we not keep a fire lit on their altars? And now this doom does befall our kingdom, our people, the children, Hileen weeps, as do I.¡± Tears fell down her cheeks and she turned away to wipe them before looking back. Gregory shook his head.


    ¡°We know not the will of the gods. Perhaps we have been too proud, perhaps we did forget their names when remembering truly mattered, I know not.¡± His eyes looked up at the stern face of Solan, the stone seeming alive in the light of the fire that even now still burned on the statue¡¯s altar. ¡°I just pray that we are shown mercy, for if we sin, we do so ignorantly.¡± His eyes wandered to the statue of Dramthek, the deceiver, unsettled by the grinning god¡¯s almost mocking smile. Dramthek¡¯s altar was the only one in the room that had no fire to warm it, the stone as clean as the day it was placed, leaving that corner of the room appropriately dark for the lost god. Rosaleen took his head in her hands, turning him to look at her.


    ¡°And what of our son? What sins did he commit to have this misfortune come upon him? Gods Gregory, we sent him away alone, and during the Month of Storms no less.¡± She looked at the statue of Galryn with anxious eyes, and silently prayed he would protect her son on the water.


    ¡°We could not have accompanied him, Alric would follow us to Dramthek¡¯s Domain, it is his obsession, but he will not search for a boy that he does not know about.¡± Said Gregory, trying to reassure himself more than anything. ¡°And he¡¯s not alone, he is with Dalton, and I trust that man as I trust myself. He will protect him.¡± Gregory stroked her hair comfortingly. Rosaleen sighed, finding little relief in the situation.


    ¡°For his sake, I pray you are right.¡± She said. Gregory¡¯s eyes wandered to the eyes of Solan again, cold stone and yet, seemingly aware, knowing.


    ¡°My only hope is that the gods show him mercy, that they do not make our sins his.¡± His voice was almost a whisper, his eyes not leaving the statue


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about gods and sins right now, I don¡¯t want to lose him, I don¡¯t want to lose you, I shouldn¡¯t have to lose anybody, gods be damned.¡± She kissed him, catching him off guard, but then he returned the gesture, taking her head in his hands, kissing her gently, passionately, in a way only true love knows. Gregory pulled back, looking into her eyes.


    ¡°Whatever happens, whatever fate the gods deem just, I love you, you are my queen, now, forever and always. If it so be that I am to die, I do so with with clear conscience, and shall wait for you in the Kingdom of Sun.¡± She put her head on his chest, her hands gripping his royal garments as if letting go would cause him to vanish.


    ¡°No, no, no, no no no. You¡¯re not going to die.¡± She shuddered as she choked out the words. ¡°I won¡¯t let you, I have not given permission, I forbid it. I will drag you back from Solan¡¯s court myself if I have to.¡± Rosaleen cried softly against his chest. Gregory put his arms around her again, gently rocking back and forth in a soothing gesture.


    ¡°Let us hope it doesn¡¯t have to come to that.¡±


    ¡­


    Emperor Alric walked through the destroyed, corpse littered halls, undeterred by the threat of enemy ambush, confident the Royal Melcanian Army had stepped on whatever resistance had been here. He walked more determinedly than before, no longer admiring the architecture, simply following the sounds of chaos.


    Alric had lost patience, he wanted the king, he wanted the queen, he wanted them NOW. There were only so many places they could be in this castle, they could not have escaped, not with the structure surrounded, he was sure of it. Alric rounded the corner to see Captain Ekhart and a collection of soldiers standing outside of a large set of double doors, apparently incapable of opening them.


    ¡°What do you mean they won¡¯t open?¡± Ekhart looked at the soldier incredulously. ¡°Break them down!¡± He gestured wildly at the doors. The soldier nodded and turned back to the doors, proceeding to knock them down with the help of another soldier. Ekhart sighed, ¡°Recruits these days.¡±, he muttered under his breath.


    ¡°Having difficulty?¡± Alric raised an eyebrow. Ekhart quickly bowed, not having seen the emperor.


    ¡°My Emperor! Apologies your majesty, I had not noticed your arrival.¡± Alric waved his hand dismissively, his face less than amused.


    ¡°Are they in there?¡± Alric indicated the door. Ekhart looked at the door, the two soldiers still trying to break in.


    ¡°Eh, in all likelihood, yes, we¡¯ve searched most of the other areas of the castle.¡± Ekhart scratched the back of his head. ¡°Besides, I believe this is the sanctuary if I¡¯m not mistaken. Heh, maybe they wanted to appeal to the gods... Or perhaps dip the wick one last time.¡± He added, chuckling. Alric did not laugh. He raised an eyebrow at the captain and Ekhart remembered who he was talking to. ¡°Eh, my apologies, your grace, I¡¯m not used to addressing royalty, especially someone of your standing.¡±


    Alric did not say anything, eyeing the captain with those cold eyes that cut like steel. Ekhart shifted uncomfortably in his boots. The men hit the door once more and it crashed inward. Ekhart smiled and began walking toward the doorway, thankful for an excuse to get out of the awkward moment.


    ¡°There you go men, nicely done, now search the ro-¡± Ekhart¡¯s head was unable to finish its sentence, because it was not there anymore, the gunshot that took it still echoing in the confined space. Several more gunshots filled the air, and several more Melcanians fell. The remaining soldiers fired back, and after a quick exchange, confirmed there were no more hostiles. Alric took a moment to look down at the now lifeless form of Captain Ekhart, satisfied with the gods¡¯ swift lesson in royal respect, and then proceeded into the room.


    All around, the eyes of the gods were upon him, judging him with hard eyes. He was not concerned by this. What he did care about was the man and woman at the end of the room, held on their knees by Melcanian soldiers. The King and Queen. Alric looked upon them with what only could be described as disgust. He looked at the king, and then the queen. Alric walked over to her, brushing the side of her face with his hand as he looked down at her without mercy.


    ¡°Hello¡­ Rosaleen¡­¡± He said, his words filled with anything but love. Rosaleen looked up at him with frightened eyes.


    ¡°Brother¡­¡± She whispered. Alric removed his hand from her face suddenly, as if the word had bit him. For a moment he simply stood over them, studying the pair with harsh eyes. Gregory, the king of a nation of sand dogs, and Rosaleen, the sister that had fled the empire to bring peace to the south. She looked hauntingly similar to Alric, same pearl skin, though hers was less sickly, same sapphire eyes, yet hers were warmer, kinder, less cutting. Rosaleen was notably older than Alric, yet still much younger than Gregory, appearing more like a mother than a sister to the young emperor.


    Aside from appearance, Alric and Rosaleen could not have been more different. The man standing before them was angry, prideful, frighteningly ethnocentric. Whereas the woman was gentle, kind, a lover of all races and all people. Alric stayed silent, as if he could not decide how to properly express his revulsion. Rosaleen reached out to him, trying to take hold of his hand.


    ¡°Brother please¡­¡± Alric backhanded her across the face, the rings on his fingers cutting into her skin. Gregory struggled against the soldier holding him down, sputtering obscenities. Alric did not even acknowledge him, putting all his attention on the woman before him.


    ¡°You are no sister of mine.¡± He said bitterly, his eyes colder than the north winds. ¡°You, who ran away to the South, you who married this, this, animal.¡± Alric spat at the ground in front of Gregory before continuing. ¡°And for what? Peace? Peace? I burned a nation, killed tens of thousands of these miserable sand dogs, tell me, where is your peace now?¡± He brought his face close to hers, allowing her to see the bitterness in his heart. Tears came to Rosaleen¡¯s eyes as she looked at the boy who had once laughed, who had had joy.


    ¡°What made you into this, brother? What has caused this hatred to grow inside you?¡± She whispered. She cried softly, the tears she had been holding back now rolling down her cheeks. Alric felt something that almost felt like compassion, but then he buried it beneath his anger.


    ¡°You know well why, and now the gods have brought this justice upon you.¡± He stood back up, but did not remove his gaze.


    ¡°Justice? You call all this death justice?¡± Gregory scoffed, fighting the soldier¡¯s grip. ¡°You are no true king, a true king would not condemn a nation to satisfy his wrath.¡± Alric looked at one of the soldiers standing next to Gregory, giving an unspoken but all too familiar order. The soldier drew back and hit Gregory in the stomach with his rifle, causing the aged king to double over. Rosaleen cried out for her husband, but Alric was not listening. He walked over in front of Gregory, looking down at the man while he gasped and sputtered.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t bring this condemnation to your people, you brought it upon yourselves when you thought you could rise in rebellion, when you thought that you could reclaim your lands and push Melcania out.¡± Alric paused. ¡°And I¡¯m an emperor, not some common king.¡± He added matter of factly. Gregory regained himself, still breathing heavily as he pushed himself back up.


    ¡°We had a treaty, signed by your own hand, the gods condemn those who would break their oaths.¡± He huffed. Alric reeled on him, suddenly furious.


    ¡°MY OATHS!? YOU DARE SPEAK TO ME OF MY OATHS!?¡± He bellowed, backhanding the man, causing him to fall over again. ¡°AND WHAT OF YOUR OATHS!? DID YOU NOT SWEAR ALLEGIANCE TO MELCANIA!? DID YOU NOT BEND TO OUR RULE!? YOUR REBELLION KILLED MY BROTHER!!¡± Alric screamed, kicking the king in his side as he tried to get back up.


    ¡°Brother! Please! Stop this! You¡¯ve won! Isn¡¯t that enough?¡± Cried Rosaleen. Alric hesitated, but then composed himself, stepping back from Gregory. He cleared his throat, straightening his cloak which had twisted in his excitement.


    ¡°Take these two to the dungeons, make sure they are kept in seperate cells. Keep them there until I¡¯ve decided what to do with them.¡± The soldiers nodded, roughly pulling the pair to their feet. With that, Alric turned and began walking out, not giving the sand dog, nor his whore, another glance. He paused in the doorway but did not turn around. ¡°And to answer your question, sister, no, it is not enough, it is never enough¡­¡± Alric continued walking, leaving the pair to their misery.

 Chapter Three: Long May He Reign

    Chapter Three: Long May He Reign


    On the day of the execution the main market of Valtroy had been cleared to make room for the grisly spectacle. So large was the event that they had no room in the castle¡¯s court for the thousands of people gathered, and so the execution of King Gregory had been moved to the main market, the largest open space available in the city. The city was still littered with rubble and debris and the past few days had been spent fixing roads and removing wreckage and other obstacles from the market.


    All labor for the event was performed by Kgnaskan citizens, by order of the emperor, including the construction of the gallows that would ultimately kill their beloved king. The daunting tool of death, the preferred method of execution in Melcania, stood erect atop a wooden platform that had been set up near the back of the market, the dead man¡¯s noose mocking the gathered crowd of Kgnaskans as it gently swayed in the wind.


    Next to gallows, towards the back of the platform, sat Emperor Alric, upon a cushioned seat beneath a simple shaded sun covering. It was clear that the heat was irritating him, despite the efforts of the covering, yet he refused to show weakness in front of the sand dogs. He sat there, guarded by nearly a dozen royal guards standing ground behind him, drumming the arm of his seat while he waited for the condemned.


    Alric looked out at the thousands of Kgnaskan citizens standing in the market space, their grim faces etched in stone. He knew they wanted nothing more than to charge the platform and tear him apart, him, the emperor that had killed their mothers, their fathers, their brothers, sisters, daughters, and sons. Alric smirked, he almost wanted to see that, to witness the crowd being slaughtered by the soldiers surrounding the venue as they tried to lay hold of even the faintest part of him, he probably would not even have to move from his seat.


    The crowd began to stir, breaking Alric from his fantasies, the people making way for a procession that marched down the middle of the space. Over a hundred black armored soldiers escorting two chained and shackled prisoners, King Gregory and the Queen Rosaleen, to the gallows. All around the crowd cried out, lamenting their monarchs, some reaching out, trying to touch them. The soldiers kept the people back, hitting a few of the more persistent ones with their rifles.


    The shackled pair looked like they had been through hell, worn and tired from sleeping on hard stone, covered in dirt and other filth from the dungeon floors, still wearing the same garments as they were the day they were shoved into their cells. It was clear that neither of them had eaten in their week long confinement.


    Gregory could barely stand up, and he was having a hard time keeping pace with the others. Rosaleen wanted to help him, to hold up her king and be his strength, but she was not able to, kept apart by the soldiers escorting them. Gregory stumbled, falling onto the ground, and did not get back up. This caused commotion in the crowd, everyone calling out to their king, pushing against the soldiers, cursing the Melcanians and their emperor. The soldiers beat back the defiant throng, fracturing jaws, breaking ribs, as they struck the Kgnaskans with rifles and coshes.


    ¡°GREGORY!¡± Cried Rosaleen, desperately trying to get to his side, but the men holding her were unyielding, and she sobbed as she watched with tear filled eyes as the guards hosted Gregory to his feet and forced him forward. There was no mercy in their hearts.


    ¡°Come on now, we haven¡¯t got all day. MOVE!¡± Barked one of the soldiers, Rosaleen could not tell which, all of their faces covered in black helmets. They continued at a stagnant pace, the shambling walk of a dying man, and finally made it to the platform, ten of the guards marching them up the steps while the remainder formed a circle around the base to keep back any would be heroes. Gregory and Rosaleen were brought in front of Alric and forced onto their knees, Alric smiling at them unpleasantly, enjoying every moment.


    ¡°Ah, there they are, the guests of honor!¡± Exclaimed Alric, just loud enough for the people on the stage, unconcerned with the standing, watching Kgnaskans surrounding them. ¡°I was wondering when you two would get here, this heat does not agree with me.¡± He took a sip from a jeweled chalice on the table next to him before continuing. ¡°Now we get to decide exactly how this is going to happen.¡± He said, gesturing at them with his hand. Gregory stayed silent, simply swaying back and forth, looking as though he might fall over again.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this, brother, please, you¡¯ve punished him enough.¡± whispered Rosaleen, choking on tears. Alric¡¯s smile faded, revealing his true self.


    ¡°I decide, when it is enough, I decide, when the debt is paid.¡± He set the chalice down sharply. ¡°But seeing as I¡¯m in a charitable mood, I¡¯ll give you this one chance. If Gregory will bend, and accept Melcania as his master, accept me, as his emperor, I will let him walk off this stage.¡± Alric spoke slowly, deliberately, emphasizing every word. Rosaleen leaned forward, taking hold of his cloak.


    ¡°Thank you brother! Thank you, you have Hileen¡¯s mercy.¡± She sobbed, wetting his clothes with her tears. He pulled his cloak back out of her hands, his face filled with disgust.


    ¡°And.¡± Rosaleen looked at him quizzically.


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°And you will return to Melcania, and never set foot in this gods forsaken land again.¡± Rosaleen looked over at her king, at the man she loved, new tears welling up as she realized that either way, whether he lived or died, she would never see him again. Still, she would choose life for him, for she could not bear the thought of losing him.


    ¡°Gregory, you must accept, you must bow to Melcania, to my brother, please, do so so you might live, I beg you, my king.¡± Gregory¡¯s swaying slowed as he tried to gather his strength, looking at his queen, the woman he loved.


    ¡°I love you, you are my queen, now, forever and always.¡± He smiled grimly. Rosaleen sobbed as she understood his words.


    ¡°No, no, no, no no no. Please, no.¡± She cried. Gregory turned to Alric, standing taller than the emperor even now, a true king.


    ¡°I bent before, I will not bend again, if I am to die, so be it, I will not yield to a man like you.¡± He spoke calmly, with power, the strength of the gods, and even Alric could feel the weight in the old king¡¯s words. Alric stood up, looking as though he might strike Gregory, then his eyes surveyed the crowd, suddenly not confident in the soldiers.


    ¡°Very well¡­¡± Alric gestured to the soldiers. ¡°Take him! Put him on the gallows!¡± The men laid hold of Gregory, briskly lifting him to his feet, forcefully leading him to the noose. Alric turned to the crowd. ¡°The king in his arrogance has chosen death, lay witness to the fate of those who oppose the will of the empire.¡± He declared in a loud voice. The people cried out, trying to save their king with their voices, pushing against the soldiers in futility. The dead man¡¯s noose was roughly pulled around Gregory¡¯s head and pulled tight. Rosaleen wept, shaking as she watched what they were doing to her husband. Alric leaned down behind her, speaking to her and only her.


    ¡°Look at the price of your betrayal, look upon this, and know what you have caused.¡± Then the lever was pulled, the king fell, and the nation was broken.


    ¡­


    51st year of the 4th Recording of time, Month of Songs


    4 months had passed since the conclusion of the second Melcanian Kgnaskan War and everything was finally settling down. Valtroy was still in ruins, but the fires had been put out, and much of the rubble had been cleared from the important areas. The bridges to the castle had been repaired, and the castle itself had been completely renovated. All signs of wartime had been erased from the structure, every bullet mark, every burned out room, every damaged and destroyed wall repaired, everything better and grander than it had been before the war, all complete with the colors and banners of Melcania.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The Empire had spared nothing to ensure that the castle was perfect, for tonight was the night of the grandest of celebrations. The nation of Kgnaska had been defeated, its land and resources now a part of the Melcanian Empire, and the castle was lit up as the sun in a royal ball that put to shame any that had come before it. Thousands had journeyed south in hopes to attend the extravagant event, but only the finest of the Melcanian upper class were allowed inside, the rest being held outside the gates by armed soldiers.


    Hundreds were gathered inside the great hall of Valtroy¡¯s keep, and more were pouring in by the minute, rapidly filling the place to capacity. Wealthy merchants, noblemen, and high ranking politicians, all here to enjoy an imperial party of the highest class. They feasted, danced, drank, and laughed, all in honor of their emperor, in honor of a great victory for Melcania. For now was a time of celebration, now was a time for profit, and all gathered were silly with merry at the prospect.


    The hall was something to behold, lit with electric lights on strings, a marvel imported from Geargandi, and lined wall to wall with banquet tables filled with the most mouth watering and succulent foods that could be found, the entire hall drenched in the aroma of hams, pheasants, exotic fruits, and pastries of all kinds. In each of the four corners of the room a band played the high society songs popular throughout the empire, perfectly synchronized with the other bands so the entire room danced with music. Dozens of finely dressed servers squeezed through the growing crowd holding trays of wine and bite size delicacies, doing their best to keep everyone fat and drunk.


    Many of the high class Melcanians in attendance were here not so much for the food or drink, nor for song or dance, but to further their societal standing; Hollow, disingenuous people, painted in bright colors, yet hiding selfish and ulterior motives. Every merchant wishing to be a lord, every lord longing to be a governor, all of them wanting a place higher than themselves.


    But of all the corrupt, self serving, self gratifying individuals present, none were more outspoken, nor more repulsive, than Lord Gravis Bakker, a nobleman who only stopped talking to stuff yet another hors d¡¯oeuvre down his gullet. The corpulent man whale was in the middle of entertaining a few of the other guests with some exaggerated story, laughing with a mouth full of raspberry tartlet, and a fist full of other delicacies he had pilfered off the passing server trays.


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you, you should¡¯ve seen the look on the man¡¯s face. What, with me holding the deed to the farm, and him going to the penitentiary for trespassing.¡± Bakker laughed vociferously, spitting bits of raspberry, the others laughed insincerely, not really amused by the repugnant man but wishing to keep up appearance.


    ¡°However did you manage to get your hands on the deed?¡±, Lady Polisa delicately retrieved a glass of Bellemirran wine offered by one of the many servers. She sipped the fine vintage before continuing, savoring the fruity composition. ¡°Oh, excuse me, as I was saying, it must have been difficult for a man of your considerable size to make the trip that far east, let alone fit through the door of a carriage.¡± Polisa smirked, taking another sip of wine, amused with herself. The others laughed, sipping from their own glasses, and the group forgot about Bakker and followed Lady Polisa to admire some hanging art across the hall.


    Bakker¡¯s face turned red, and he angrily shoved a smoked eel into his mouth, eyes following the smiling woman. Lady Polisa, Lady Polisa, Lady Polisa. Bakker added the name to his personal list of people who had slighted him, and then proceeded to waddle to the next group of party goers, just as clamorous and bothersome as before.


    ¡­


    Emperor Alric sat in front of a lavish crystal mirror in a room of the castle that he had converted into his personal sleeping quarters whilst in Valtroy. All around him nearly half a dozen servants combed, plucked, filed, polished, and performed an untold number of other duties, quickly trying to ready the young emperor for the party. He was going out to meet the highest Melcanian society had to offer, aside from himself of course, and as their imperial leader he had to look perfect. Alric looked in the mirror, one of the servants puffing his face with makeup, and frowned.


    ¡°I detest these gatherings, they¡¯re always immoderate, excessive, loud, and gods, the people.¡± He looked at his advisor, Petyr Corvus, in the mirror, not turning around. ¡°I swear if I have to listen to one more bad joke, I¡¯m going start cutting out tongues.¡± Alric huffed, rolling his eyes. Corvus merely chuckled.


    Corvus was a peculiar man, exceedingly tall and exceedingly slender, with a thin, narrow face that could have belonged to a serpent. His chestnut hair was cut short enough that he had no need to fuss with it, and he barely showed any signs of age despite being much older than the emperor. He wore simple, yet elegant attire, in the colors of the empire, with the exception of a dark green sash around his waist, trimmed in silver, in honor of his home nation of Geargandi.


    Corvus was a man of sharp eyes and even sharper tongue, able to spin fact and fable into gold to suit his needs and the needs of the empire. He was exceptionally intelligent, like a true Geargandian, and always knew the correct response to any given situation. As the chief advisor of the emperor, he was one of the few people Alric put any trust in, and he loved his position like a child with a new toy.


    ¡°My Emperor, with due respect, if you detest parties so much, why do you make it a point to throw them?¡± His mouth lifted in an amused half smile. Alric waved the servants away, a couple of them sneaking a last touch here and there before scurrying out of the room. They would have continued for another half hour if Alric had patience for them, but the young emperor could only be pestered for so long. Alric looked at himself in the mirror, going over the work the servants had done, not displeased, yet not seeming satisfied either.


    ¡°You¡¯re a smart man, Corvus.¡± Alric kept his gaze on the mirror. Corvus raised an eyebrow, waiting for the emperor to continue. Alric¡¯s eyes met his in the glass reflection. ¡°Tell me, what is Melcania?¡± Corvus looked momentarily puzzled. What is Melcania? There could be a thousand viable answers to that question. He pondered what the emperor was getting at. Melcania controlled the most landmass in the world, Melcania was the epicenter for all international trade, Melcania had the largest military force, controlled the most lightning crystals, had the most mineral wealth. He puzzled a moment and then realized the obvious answer, the one thing all the other thousands of answers had in common.


    ¡°Why, my Emperor, Melcania is unexcelled, the grandest in all respects.¡± Alric smiled, content with the answer.


    ¡°Exactly.¡± He stood up, pulling on his cloak. ¡°If we do not celebrate our victories, if we do not show the world time and time again that we are the most lucrative, the most lavish and unsurpassed, that we can throw a nation¡¯s salary at a victor¡¯s feast, then the world will forget who, we, are.¡± Alric turned to face Corvus, his cold eyes penetrating the man. Corvus gave a short, respectful bow, putting his arms out to the side, one of the few men undaunted by the emperor¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°You truly are the wisest of us, my Emperor.¡±He stood straight again. ¡°Now, as much as I do enjoy these lessons, your grace, we should be heading down to the feast, it would be a shame for your guests to come all this way to miss an audience with you.¡± Alric nodded, silently agreeing with the man. He placed his imperial crown upon his head, checking in the mirror to make sure it was on straight, and then proceeded out of the room, Corvus following closely behind.


    ¡­


    The doors to the great hall opened, held by imperial guards. Four more guards entered, with Emperor Alric at their center. All at once the party went silent, all faces turned to see the emperor¡¯s arrival. Even Gravis Bakker stopped stuffing his face long enough to watch Alric make his way majestically through their midst.


    The young monarch was everything that the leader of the Grand Melcanian Empire should be, perfect, in every way. Dressed head to toe in the most lavish and regal imperial garments, boots made of the finest Tiriisian spider silk, a cloak, black as a moonless night and softer than Kendorian cotton, with his equally dark breeches and tunic embroidered with gold designed to look like stretching vines.


    Atop his head rested the Imperial crown, a golden relic as old as the empire itself, worn by the first emperor, Emperor Aethelred, who stood at the walls of Anthos as they fell. The crown was elegantly designed, smooth and flowing, with no sharp curves or edges, and was accented with sapphires, but that was not the most impressive feature. There, sitting in the center of the jewelled headpiece, contained within a small ball of crystalled glass, was a lightning crystal, shining a brilliant blue that matched the emperor¡¯s eyes.


    Alric walked down the center of the room, the entire audience making way, clearing a path, everyone bowing as he passed them. Alric climbed the steps to the imperial throne, much grander than the king¡¯s old seat, a grossly exorbitant thing of gold and black marble, designed with golden stone ravens, the fierce symbol of the empire. He turned to face the audience, his guards standing vigilant on either side of the base of the steps. He looked out over the hundreds in attendance, their faces full of respect and devotion, the corners of his mouth lifting in a half smile, it was good to be the emperor. Alric sat down upon the throne, laying his hands on the golden arms shaped as raven heads, and waited expectantly.


    A young man with a prematurely balding head, stepped up to the base of the steps, turned towards the crowd, and declared in a loud voice.


    ¡°All hail his Majesty, High Emperor Alric, supreme imperial monarch of all Melcania and her holdings, Chosen of Solan, of Hileen, and of Galryn of the great deep, protector against injustice and impurity, Keeper of lightning, and true born of the Northlands. LONG MAY HE REIGN!¡± With one voice the crowd roared back.


    ¡°LONG MAY HE REIGN! LONG MAY HE REIGN! LONG MAY HE REIGN!¡±

 Chapter Four: Land of the Salt God

    Chapter Four: Land of the Salt God


    75th year of the 4th Recording of time, Month of Sun


    Ryan awoke abruptly, his face sheened with sweat. His breathing came in deep huffs as the lingering visions of the nightmare slowly dissipated. It was the same dream he always had, but that did not make it any easier, a dream of a boy lost in the vast waters, tossed by the waves, alone and half drowned.


    Ryan sat up on the small straw cot he called a bed, shaking his head as if that would rid him of the images floating inside. He looked outside the window of the modest room and saw that the sky was just starting to lighten, meaning he had not slept long. He laid back down, closing his eyes as if to sleep again, but he simply was not tired. Ryan sighed, rolling over onto his side, and then onto his back again, before sitting up in defeat.


    ¡°Well, I guess if I¡¯m up, I¡¯m up.¡± He said to himself. Ryan got out of bed and stood up, letting the blanket fall off his bare skin. He was young man, almost full grown, and he was lean and muscular, the body of a boy who worked to eat. His hair was black as night, and he would have almost appeared as a Melcanian, if it were not for his tan skin, and his dark, mud colored eyes, common traits amongst the sand nations to the West.


    Ryan pulled on a simple pair of pants and a shirt, not bothering with shoes, and went to the window. He looked out over the city, high above its streets from his third story perch, watching a sleeping world wake up with the first rays of sunrise. This was his city, the proud city of Britva, capital of Mirratroy. Ryan breathed deep, taking in the smell of the salt filled air, of the booze that flowed freely in the streets, of the blood and fish and unwashed denizens, the smells of a free nation. He loved it.


    Ryan climbed up onto the sill and swung out of the window, landing gracefully onto the slate roof of the building beneath him as he had done a thousand times before. He ran the length of the building, hopped down onto the ledge of a second story balcony, dropped off, catching the side with his hands before letting himself fall to the street below his feet. The whole process took no more than thirty seconds.


    An old woman in a dirty shawl was sweeping the street in front of the door Ryan had just landed next to. She looked up momentarily, not slowing her rhythmic side to side sweep, and then focused back on the cobblestones.


    ¡°Morning Mrs. Walsh.¡± Said Ryan, giving the woman a quick smile. Mrs. Walsh merely grunted, shaking her head at the young renegade. ¡°You got any bread in the oven? Or maybe some stales from yesterday? Could use something for breakfast.¡± Ryan continued, undeterred by the woman¡¯s cold shoulder. When she continued to ignore him, he went to the door of the bakery, but before he could touch the handle, the broom swung around unexpectedly, smacking him on the hand.


    ¡°We¡¯re closed, business not open til sixth hour, you know that.¡± barked Mrs. Walsh, glaring at him with her one good eye, the other eye looking at crab vendors down the street. The old hag pointed a gnarled finger at him, clutching the broom like a weapon. ¡°Besides, you still owe me for yesterday, and the day before. Three Brits, three! I don¡¯t run a charity, now run along until you get me some money!¡± She harrumphed, getting back to her sweeping, but keeping between him and the door. Ryan shrugged; he¡¯d have to find breakfast somewhere else.


    ¡°Well, you have a good day now, Mrs. Walsh.¡± He said, smiling, walking away to some other vendor, some other store.


    Ryan continued a rather shiftless stroll, the streets becoming increasingly busy as people got on with their morning. A man bustled through the growing crowd, overburdened with baskets of fruit. As he pushed past Ryan an apple fell from one of his baskets, but he did not notice and kept walking. Ryan snatched the fruit out of the air before it hit the ground, grinning at it as he looked it over. He gave a little wave at the man who had unwittingly given him a free breakfast and then bit into the apple with a satisfied crunch. He finished it rather quickly, throwing the core down an alley, and then went to see if anyone else had dropped anything to go with it.


    ¡­


    Ryan walked until he came to a part of town most smart people avoided. The buildings here were dirty and damaged, with shattered, boarded up windows and walls that were vandalized with paint and knives, depicting the symbols of various gangs. A cat was rooting through a pile of trash across the street, it hissed when it saw Ryan, and then ducked down into the pile.


    Ryan came to a brick building with a burned out second floor and turned down the alley next to it. He stopped in front of a sturdy, iron reinforced door that had a red kraken painted on the wall next to it, the symbol of the Crimson Terrors. Ryan looked around to make sure no one was keeping too close an eye on him, then he hit the door twice with his fist. A slat opened up and a pair of green eyes looked out at him.


    ¡°Oy, what¡¯s the password?¡± Said the eyes. Ryan gave them a tired looked.


    ¡°Just let me in Jim, you know it¡¯s me.¡± He said.


    ¡°Cap¡¯n Reis tells us we need to be getting the password or we¡¯s not to be letting peoples in.¡± Insisted Jim.


    ¡°Of course he did.¡± Muttered Ryan. He rubbed his face with his hand and sighed. ¡°The password is jellyfish squalls.¡± The slat clacked shut, and the sound of multiple locks being undone could be heard. A minute later the door opened, a young boy, barely 20 years of age, waving him in. He was a good deal shorter than Ryan, and must have been standing on a box before. ¡°For fucks sake, Jim, you know who I am.¡± said Ryan, ruffling the boy¡¯s hair as he came inside.


    ¡°By the way, Ryan, Cap¡¯n Reis says he¡¯s lookin for ya, wants to talk or somethin, I guess.¡± Ryan¡¯s face became perplexed. It was not that uncommon, he had seen the man before, even talked with him, but it was still a surprise.


    ¡°He wants to talk to me? You¡¯re sure?¡± Jim just shrugged.


    ¡°Alls I knows is that I¡¯m supposed to send you back, parently he¡¯s already been waitin a good hour, so if I was you, I¡¯d go see what he wants.¡± Jim shut the door to the outside and began locking it up. Ryan gathered his bearings and made his way to the back of the building.


    The place was nearly as run down as the outside, with dirt, dust, and other debris littering the floors. The walls had exposed studs and large holes all the way through in some places, so you could see through to the other side. Of course, every window and wall that faced outside was properly boarded up, barred, and reinforced, effectively turning the place into a semi fortress. Captain Reis would have nothing less, only the best for the Kraken¡¯s Den, headquarters of the Crimson Terrors, though his definition of quality was rather lacking considering the smell of mildew and rat shit.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Despite the sun now being high in the sky the place was dark, the covered windows letting in very little sunlight, and Ryan squinted in the low light provided by the candles placed precariously around the space. He walked past an open door to the left were three grumpy looking men with kraken tattoos on their shoulders sat at a table counting stacks of Brits and other currencies. He stood gawking a minute, before getting a look from one of the men, and hurried past.


    Ryan passed a closed door to the right, and could hear the sounds of people knocking boots, a woman crying out in pain, or pleasure, or both. ¡°Well, I guess someone¡¯s early at it.¡± Muttered Ryan, not staying to listen. He made it to the end of the hall, where a large man, a full head taller than Ryan, and four times as muscular, stood guard, a large dagger at his side, and a pistol Ryan could see hidden in his vest. The man had a long scar down the left side of his face, the eye that used to be there covered in a black patch. On his neck was a tattoo of a red kraken, the man proudly wearing the symbol of his gang in plain sight, unlike most who kept it on their arms, chests, or backs. Bull Shark Jack, Captain Reis¡¯ right hand man. He had gutted more people than anyone else in the gang, and he was fucking good at it. Ryan looked up at the man, doing his best to not seem intimidated.


    ¡°Hey Jack, I¡¯m here to see Captain Reis, he should be expecting me.¡± Said Ryan, shifting from side to side. Jack just looked at him, never having been one for conversation, and grunted when he was sure the boy was not carrying any weapons, stepping to one side to let him through. Ryan opened the heavy wooden door and went inside.


    It was much brighter in this room than the rest of the building, large candelabras lighting the room on either side of a large, ornate desk, obviously stolen. A beautiful, but rather dusty, Kendorian rug laid out on the floor, and paintings held in gold and silver frames hung crookedly along the walls. But, the most prominent feature of the room was the massive man sitting at the desk in a plush, high backed chair that was dwarfed by his immense size. Captain Reis, the Giant of Britva.


    If Ryan thought Jack was big, Reis was a good two heads, almost three heads, taller than that, and built like an ox, wide and incredibly powerful. Dressed head to toe in semi formal captain attire, the large man commanded respect without question or compromise. Ryan had heard tales about him, that he had once torn a man¡¯s arm off with his bare hands, and beaten him to death with it, over a bad game of cards. That, and many other stories, spoken in hushed whispers over rum and drink.


    Ryan closed the door behind him and stood in front of the desk. Reis looked him over, scowling, his face hard and weathered, a man who had been through many a storm. He leaned forward in his chair, bringing his face closer to Ryan¡¯s. Finally, he slapped the table with his hand, startling Ryan, and laughed, a deep, hearty laugh common amongst pirates.


    ¡°How are ya Ryan, me boy? Things treatin you good here in the Terrors?¡± The man mountain sat back in his chair, grinning. Though the captain was in a good mood, Ryan knew Reis was known for a quick temper, and that his mood could change faster than the weather during the Month of Storms. Ryan returned the man¡¯s smile, trying to seem relaxed, but it just came off awkward.


    ¡°It¡¯s been treating me very well, Captain, I feel that I have become a part of this crew.¡± Reis laughed at the boy¡¯s stiffness, slapping the desk with his meaty hand again.


    ¡°Good, good, that¡¯s what I like to hear, all the boys have good things to say about you.¡± Reis scratched his chin, cracking his neck either way before continuing. ¡°I¡¯m thinkin it¡¯s bout time we got you your mark, make you a full brother to the gang.¡± Ryan contained a sudden wave of excitement, getting his tattoo, or mark, as it was referred to, meant he would become a part of the Crimson Terrors for life. It was something that came with respect, money, and brotherhood. Reis held up his hand, cutting him off as if seeing his fantasies. ¡°But first we got to do one last job, a test of sorts. I haven¡¯t worked out all the details yet, but it¡¯s gonna put the Terrors in a good place, get us a bit more respect in this city. For now just keep up the good work and make us some money. Jack¡¯ll find you when we¡¯re ready to move.¡± Reis took a tankard off his desk and drank the contents deeply, waving Ryan away with his other hand.


    ¡°Aye, Captain!¡± Said Ryan, exiting the room. The big man set the tankard down hard on the desk, his face returning to a much more serious scowl.


    ¡­


    In the back alleys of Britva, away from the busy streets and markets, a sizeable crowd was gathered around a young man, and a table board he had set up on a bucket. He sat there on a small wooden box, moving cups around on the board, a confused man sitting across from him trying to follow along. Ryan smiled at the people watching, shifting his hands deftly, far too fast for anyone to see.


    ¡°Come on now, you look like a smart man, surely you got this. Where¡¯s the shiny Brit? Is it this one, that one, or, or, or, this one over here?¡± Said Ryan exuberantly, the man across from him looking dizzy. Ryan stopped the cups, putting his hands out. ¡°Which one is it in?¡± He said, smiling. The man scratched his head, having completely lost the coin¡¯s location. He moved his finger over the top of the cup, and finally decided on the one to Ryan¡¯s left. Ryan put his hand on the cup, the entire crowd waiting earnestly. He paused, feeling the tension build in their watching eyes, and then pulled the cup off to reveal a silver Siren, a second place winner, meaning the man had broken even. The man cursed his luck and took the coin. Ryan looked out at the throng. ¡°Who¡¯s next? Who¡¯s got a Siren to test their luck on the cups?¡±


    Several hands went up, each man and woman wanting to get in on the game. Ryan looked out at them, searching for the next player. He spotted Jim standing behind a tall man with a missing arm, lifting the coin pouch off the man¡¯s belt. The boy was so small that no one even noticed him slinking around, everyone focused on Ryan¡¯s showmanship. Ok, so not him, thought Ryan, looking at the one armed man. Jim pointed at a woman with arms covered in tattoos, signaling a good catch. ¡°How¡¯s about you, miss. Come test your luck.¡± Said Ryan, motioning her over.


    This was a common hustle that Ryan and Jim did for the Terrors, and as long as they did not take too much they would be long gone before anyone noticed their purse was missing, and even then they would find someone else to blame. It was good money, but most of it went to the gang, leaving the boys with just enough to pay for their needs. But still, it was better than paying a tax to the government.


    The island nation of Mirratroy was founded by pirates in days long past, and that same spirit of freedom, opportunity, and joy still reigned in the hearts of the people who lived there. Many still held onto the old beliefs, practicing piracy, smuggling, pillaging, and other acts deemed unsavory by other nations, led by the teachings of a harsh and nameless god of the salt. Still, despite this, all citizens of Mirratroy are expected to pay a tax on all income, including stolen goods and treasure. A harsh 20% that most would rather not pay. It was for this reason that, in spite of being a nation of pirates and cutthroats, that the Salt Gangs formed, embittered sailors and ruffians that felt that the only way to truly be free and live to the Salt God¡¯s ways, was to carve their own path, and reject the government¡¯s rule. Gangs like the Crimson Terrors, the Salt Hooks, and even the infamous Black Blades that had operations as far as the shores of Melcania.


    After another hour or so, the crowd began dying down, the day waxing late, and Ryan picked up the board, stowing the cups in a burlap sack and tucking everything neatly under his arm. He pulled his purse out and dumped the sirens into his hand, counting the silver coins. He looked up to see Jim walking up to him, a childish grin on his face.


    ¡°To the Salt God emself, a good haul today says I.¡± Said Jim euphorically, elated by the day¡¯s success. Ryan frowned, shifting the coins around in his hand.


    ¡°Eh, not as good as yesterday.¡± He said, sliding the coins back into his purse. Jim just shrugged.


    ¡°Not like they¡¯s goin anywhere. We¡¯ll pick up more tomorrow.¡± The boy said the words carelessly, flippantly, not concerned with the risks of the job. Ryan smiled, ruffling the boy¡¯s hair.


    ¡°Well, I guess you¡¯re right, we can always make up the shortage. Now, how about we go grab something to eat? Maybe get a drink? I have to pop by Mrs. Walsh¡¯s anyway.¡± The pair bagan walking back to the main street.


    ¡°Mrs. Walsh? You mean that old witch who thumped me good for tryin to lift a roll?¡± Asked Jim, his eyes wide. Ryan chuckled.


    ¡°Yep, I owe her some money, and if I ever want to get my favorite breakfast spot back, I better pay up.¡± The pair laughed, casually walking through the market as the setting sun sank ever further beneath the horizon.

 Chapter Five: Blades

    Chapter Five: Blades


    Ryan stumbled through the darkened streets, trying to make sense of his direction as the world spun around him. Jim and him had gone out on the town, spending their meager shares on food, drink¡­ Well, mostly drink. Even though Jim was just a boy, and Ryan was barely a man himself, there were no laws in Mirratroy that said they could not have a good time, and a good time meant drinking until you either killed someone, fucked someone, or married someone.


    Ryan walked up to a wall, steadying himself with his hand. He whipped out his cock, and proceeded to piss, not concerned with any looky loos. When he had finished, he put himself away and staggered on, singing a shanty he could only half remember. Ryan was not sure what happened to Jim, but he was too intoxicated to give it much thought.The boy was probably asleep on a corner somewhere, he would be fine. Ryan stopped singing when he heard a noise behind him, like someone knocking over a waste bin. he turned around to see four men approaching him, or was it two? He was not sure right now, the booze making his head swirl. Ryan went to turn back around, but another man stood behind him, blocking his path.


    ¡°Well, what do we got here? A stray pup out after dark?¡± Said the man. Ryan looked up at him just in time for the other two men to come up to his front, wielding black daggers. Ryan looked warily at the knives, knowing that meant they were members of the Black Blades. One of the men, a squat, fat little man with greasy hair and brown teeth, gestured at him with his dagger.


    ¡°I says we cuts him, we can take anything we wants to off a corpse.¡± Said the man, cackling at the idea of spilling Ryan¡¯s insides. Ryan tried to tuck and run but the big man behind him grabbed his arm and yanked him back, holding onto him with heavy hands. The greasy man came up to him, close enough that he could smell the man¡¯s putrid breath, and put his dagger hard against Ryan¡¯s neck. ¡°Oy, you stupid or somethin? You know who we are? We¡¯re fuckin Black Blades, you little shit.¡±


    The greasy man looked over at the other man. ¡°Well, don¡¯t just stand there, search him for somethin shiny.¡± He said, gesturing his head toward Ryan. The other man, a skinny man with skin black as night and hair down to his navel, came up and started patting Ryan down, going through his pockets. He pulled a cheap knife out of Ryan¡¯s pants, a dull thing that was only good for stabbing, chuckling as he tossed the blade down the street. His hands lingered a little too long on Ryan¡¯s groin, considering other, less tasteful acts, and then ventured up, locating the purse that Ryan kept on a string around his neck and yanking it free. The Greasy man grabbed the purse from the skinny man¡¯s hand and hastily opened it up, hooting like a fool as he rooted through the contents.


    ¡°Oh it looks like we gots ourselves one hell of a score tonight, lads. Look at all these sirens, must be ten brits worth in here.¡± Ryan struggled against the big man behind him.


    ¡°Hey, you don¡¯t want to be stealing that, that¡¯s not mine. That¡¯s Crimson Terror money, you don¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing.¡± Ryan felt the big man¡¯s grip relax a bit at the mention of the Terrors, and the skinny man looked anxiously at the greasy man. Although the Terrors were not as large, nor as respected, as the Black Blades, it was bad form to rob members of opposing gangs, and everyone knew about Bull Shark Jack and Reis the giant.


    ¡°Finn, you sure we ought to be doing this? I mean, if he is in the gang.¡± The Greasy man, who¡¯s name was apparently Finn, gave the skinny man a look, and then looked back at Ryan.


    ¡°The Terrors, you say?¡± Finn said, pretending to think about it. He then punched Ryan hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to double over, with only the big man¡¯s hands to keep him standing. Finn leaned in close to Ryan¡¯s face, his dirty, oily hair, in addition to his rancid breath, making Ryan¡¯s eyes water and his stomach heave.


    ¡°I. DON¡¯T. GIVE. A FUCK. BOUT. THE TERRORS!¡± Finn hollered in his face. Ryan looked up at him, his stomach churning. ¡°What? You got somethin to s-¡± Ryan¡¯s stomach released its contents, spewing out of his mouth with explosive force, hitting Finn square in the face. Finn had already been in a violent mood but now he was furious.


    ¡°WHAT THE BLEEDIN FUCK!?¡± Screamed Finn, wiping the vomit out of his eyes. ¡°I¡¯M A FUCKIN BLADE YOU CUNT!¡± He punched Ryan in the stomach again, then threw him to the ground. The three men stomped on him, kicking him in the stomach, the face, anywhere they felt like it. Ryan could feel his bones cracking, and his mouth filled with the taste of blood.


    They¡¯re killing me, I¡¯m going to die. Finn raised his dagger in the air, ready to cut the little pup. He brought the knife down, but it did not hit anything, as Finn was now being held off the ground by a man nearly twice his height.


    ¡°C-cap¡¯n R-r-reis.¡± Stammered the skinny man. The big man, now not seeming so tall, stood silent. Finn¡¯s eyes bulged with fear as he dangled from the giant¡¯s grip, body frozen in shock. Reis looked at Finn, and then down at the pair, his face hard and without quarter. He reached up, scratching his chin with his free hand, letting the dread sink into the three cutthroats before speaking. It must have been working, because an acrid smelling liquid was spilling out of Finn¡¯s pants.


    ¡°So there I was, leavin the warmth and comforts of the Mermaid¡¯s Kiss, sayin my goodbyes to all the beautiful ladies. I was walking off the drink, when I heard, the most peculiar sound in the wind.¡± Reis held Finn a little higher, so that the smelling ruffian could look him in the eye. ¡°Do you know what it was I heard?¡± He asked, casually but a hidden edge lined his words. Finn¡¯s mouth opened and closed, but nothing remotely resembling speech came out of him. ¡°I heard some no good, worthless, shit brained sack of human filth say that they, didn¡¯t give a fuck about the Terrors?¡± His voice was growing, the edge becoming less and less hidden as Reis dropped the mask and let his temper show. ¡°And then I come here, to the source of those words, to see some blade bastards that be thinkin they can kill one of my boys, without. my. say. Now, that is troubling¡­¡±


    Finn had finally recovered from shock and stabbed Reis in the arm, sticking the blade deep. Reis did not even flinch. Finn pulled the dagger free but, before he could raise it for another strike, Reis swung around and smashed the greasy little man into the unyielding bricks of the wall next to them, caving in his ribcage with unreal force. Finn slumped onto the cobblestones, shattered, broken, dead. Reis looked at the corpse in disgust and turned to the other two, who stood wide eyed and frozen.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    ¡°Get out of here, before I get upset.¡± Reis growled. The two turned and ran frantically down the street, tripping over themselves like gutless landlubbers. Reis watched the rats scurry away and then remembered the boy. He stooped down, picking Ryan up gently. He threw the lad over his shoulder and took him home, leaving finn to rot.


    ¡­


    It was half passed the second hour when the doors to the Sozzled Parrot swung open, and Captain Reis came in, dropping Ryan onto one of the tables. Mary, a buxom woman with red hair and fair skin, dropped her mop and came running out from behind the bar.


    ¡°By the Nameless God! Ryan!¡± She exclaimed. She came up to Ryan¡¯s side, tentatively touching his bloody, bruised skin, biting her lip as she tried to grasp the extent of the damage. She looked up at Reis. ¡°What happened!? Who did this!? Oh God¡­¡± She cried. Reis put his hands comfortingly on her shoulders.


    ¡°There was a fight, but it¡¯s over now. Don¡¯t worry about what happened, just worry about taking care of the boy.¡± He said. Mary looked back at Ryan, whimpering in pain on the table, unable to move. ¡°I can¡¯t stay, I have things that need doing, but watch over him for me, will you do that?¡± Reis asked, turning her head back towards him. Mary nodded, holding back tears. Reis left out the door, and Mary turned her attention back to Ryan. She went to sink and pumped water into a bucket, and grabbed some rags out of the bin, rushing back to the boy¡¯s side. Carefully, she pulled Ryan¡¯s shirt off, and gasped as she found more cuts and bruises all along his chest and stomach; Black, green, and purple things, large, ugly, everywhere.


    ¡°What did they do to you? My boy. My sweet, sweet boy.¡± She said wistfully. Mary dipped a rag into the bucket and gently began running it over Ryan¡¯s skin, cleaning away the blood, the dirt, all the other filth. As she washed him, she sang a song, almost under her breath.


    ¡°My boy, my tender, happy boy,


    You are young, you are small,


    You know not yet,


    That this world has teeth,


    You know not yet,


    That this world has claws,


    But some day,


    When you are old, when you are grown,


    You will be made a man,


    And this world that does bite,


    This world that does claw,


    Will not hurt you,


    For men do not bend, men do not break,


    But rise unbroken against the world.¡±


    Through the pain, Ryan could still hear the familiar words, and found comfort in them. As Mary continued to sing, he was reminded of another home, another mother, another song. His breathing relaxed, and he fell asleep to Mary¡¯s lullaby, dreaming of castles and lands of sand.


    ¡­


    Parsei, Lithia


    Rakesh cleaned the glass that was in his hand for what must have been the fourth time now, his mind distracted by the man who was still sitting at the bar, passed out drunk. The tavern had been closed for over an hour now and Rakesh just wanted to lock up and finish cleaning. He set the glass down in the wash basin and walked over to the man. He snapped his fingers over the man, receiving not so much as a twitch in response. Rakesh gave the man¡¯s shoulder a little shake, and nearly fell over in shock when the man¡¯s hand whipped up and grabbed his wrist.


    ¡°Another¡­ another bottle¡­¡± Said Dalton, not lifting his head off the table. Rakesh pulled his hand free, rubbing his wrist.


    ¡°The tavern¡¯s closed, I need you to leave.¡± Said Rakesh, trying to sound like a bigger man than he was. Dalton just gestured with his hand.


    ¡°Another bottle¡­ please¡­¡± Rakesh folded his arms.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ve had enough, now I need you to leave or I¡¯m going to have to get a constable. Please, I need to finish cleaning up.¡± Dalton submitted, lifting his muddled head off the counter and grabbing his crutch that was leaning next to him. He swiveled in the stool, nearly losing his balance in the spinning room. He set his foot down on the ground, then his crutch, and hobbled out the door without any further incentive or irritation. Rakesh, shook his head, and quickly went to the door to lock up after him, not wanting anymore late night drunks wandering in.


    Dalton limped down the empty streets of Parsei, letting the cool night air wash over him as he made his way home. Parsei was the largest port in the nation of Lithia, and it was there the gods had decided to place Dalton after the Marie Ann had been lost at sea. It was a good, peaceful town, with pleasant enough people, and Dalton liked it enough. He was more concerned with just staying drunk, not paying much mind to anything else.


    Drinking was the only way to forget, the only way for him to drown out the memories, the words that repeated themselves in his brain, over, and over, and over again. You failed, you failed, you failed, you failed, you failed, you fai-. Dalton shook his head violently, shutting up the voice¡­ for now. He turned down another street, more of the same sand brick buildings. There was a time when Dalton would have gotten lost in this indistinguishable maze of flat roofed, tan colored shops and houses, but now, after many years, he could navigate this town blindfolded¡­ Or stupidly drunk, as he was now.


    Dalton took another turn, coming in view of the coastline, and came upon some steep steps. He grabbed the side wall with his free hand and carefully lowered himself down to the first step, bringing his crutch along after. He then repeated the process for each individual step. After an agonizing ten minutes of this, he came to the base of the steps, turned left, and walked until he arrived at what would best be described as a hovel, located about hundred yards away from the docks. The place was rundown and squalid, and did not even have a door, simply a tattered blanket draped across the entryway. Dalton brushed this aside and entered the place he called home.


    The interior was far worse than the outside, if that could be believed. The walls were cracked and breezy, the mortar chipping out and the bricks not having been laid right to begin with. There was a large hole in the roof in the far corner of the hut, and the only thing to keep out the elements was a slab of wood laid over the opening, and a bucket placed underneath that was already filled with stagnant water. Everything inside the structure was caked in at least 2 inches of dust and sand, however, the most notable aspect of the house, were the hundreds of liquor bottles that were strewn everywhere. Every available surface was heaped with them, with exception to the bed mat in the corner, and the path leading from the door, to said bed mat.


    Dalton hobbled over to the mat and lowered himself as best as his inebriated condition would allow. He set his crutch on the floor beside the mat, and groaned as he laid himself down, his old, tired body protesting the movement. His mind felt heavy from drink, and he quickly began to doze. Dalton¡¯s hand fell down, brushing the stump of his missing right leg¡­ His eyes shot open, panicked, his mind filled with images of water, violent, crushing, water. He sat up on the mat and ran both hands over the stump, remembering through the blur, that he had lost his leg. His breathing relaxed again, and he laid back down, but the images still haunted him. He did his best to push them out and forget, remembering a simpler time, a simpler life, in a castle, standing beside a king, a mentor, a friend. Dalton kept this picture in his mind until the drink caught up to him, and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 Chapter Six: Burn it Down

    Chapter Six: Burn it Down


    Kerihor, Kgnaska


    Nori waited anxiously in the main room of the home, alongside a half dozen other people. Everyone was either sick or injured, and all of them awaited their turn to be healed by the medicine woman. It was not an entirely accurate title, but it was what everyone else called the old woman that cured their ills with a wave of blue magic. Nori simply referred to her as a healer. In any case, he was not here for himself, but rather, his daughter, Grace. She was ailed with a terrible cough, one which produced blood, and now, after less than two weeks... Nori looked with troubled eyes to the door, the door that would let his daughter in to be cured, Grace leaning against him, breathing heavily.


    The door opened and an over joyous man walked out, whole as could be and praising the gods, a man who had gone in with a broken foot. Nori¡¯s hopes grew a little at the sight of the apparent miracle, he looked down at Grace, her sweat sheened face and matted hair filling his stomach with doubt again. She could heal a foot, yes, but could she cure such a disease? Of course she could, she had to, for his daughter¡¯s sake. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he did not see the elderly woman standing in front of him, smiling kindly.


    ¡°You may enter next, bring the afflicted, and I shall heal her woes.¡± She said, her voice light, pleasant, soothing. Nori felt as though everything would be alright. He picked up Grace and carried her to the back room.


    The room was simpler than Nori had expected, merely a table, a couple chairs, and a tall cupboard on the one wall. The healing woman walked over to the table, brushing the top of it with her aged hand.


    ¡°Place the child here.¡± She said, leaving the table and going over to the cupboard. Nori laid Grace on the table, brushing her hair out of her face. He smiled lovingly as he remembered a time when she was healthy. He kissed her little hand.


    ¡°Soon baby, soon.¡± He whispered to his little girl. The woman walked back to the table, now holding a small wooden box. She placed the box on the table and opened it up to reveal a collection of what appeared to be glowing blue stones or crystals of all different sizes.


    ¡°How far along is the affliction?¡± Asked the woman, rooting through the objects.


    ¡°Uh, about two weeks.¡± Answered Nori, his eyes transfixed on the beautiful jewels.


    ¡°Two weeks¡­¡± Muttered the old woman. She picked out a crystal that was roughly the size of a cherry, placing it between her hands. The crystal glowed bright, then the blue light moved from the crystal to the elderly healer¡¯s hands, and its own color went dull. The woman dropped the spent crystal on the floor, where it shattered into dust. ¡°Step aside, please.¡± She said to Nori. Nori looked at her hands, unable to comprehend what he was seeing, but did as he was told.


    With closed eyes, the healer put her hands on Grace, humming to herself as she moved them up and down, from her legs, up to her chest, and then her arms, as if searching for something. She brought her hands back to Grace¡¯s chest, nodding slightly. Nori watched in awe as the light glowed brighter in the woman¡¯s hands and then seemed to move from her, to Grace¡¯s chest, causing Grace to glow as bright as a blue sun. Nori shielded his eyes and, after a minute, the light passed. Nori looked at the table again and Grace was sitting up smiling, as healthy as could be. Nori¡¯s eyes filled with tears and he embraced his daughter. He looked at the old woman.


    ¡°Thank you, thank you so much. Please, how can I repay you?¡± The healer just smiled.


    ¡°Your daughter¡¯s health is all the payment I need. Now go, go and live happy lives.¡±


    Nori picked up Grace and walked out the door to the main room with a song in his heart. That song quickly died, when the front door to the home burst open, a tired, panting man, standing in the doorway.


    ¡°Melcanians¡­ Melcanians are coming!¡± The man gasped, still out of breath. Noristood there in the room, looking at the man. He held Grace close, praying to Hileen, to all the gods, that she would be safe.


    ¡­


    The Melcanians rode into the town with the subtlety of an invading army. At least three dozen riders atop horses clad in black and gold armor, carrying the banners of the empire. At their rear was a single lightning powered siege machine, a large transport model that sacrificed weaponry to make room for more carrying space. The soldier at the front of the collection took off his helmet, looking out at the townspeople that had gathered in a semi circle around their front.


    ¡°Attention, people of Kerihor, we are not here to bring harm to you. Cooperate, and you will all receive the Emperor¡¯s mercy.¡± Said Captain Magnar, pausing before continuing. ¡°That being said, we are looking for an old woman that is said to live in this town. A woman, that many claim, has the ability to cure afflictions with a blue light.¡± Magnar waited, as if expecting an answer. When he did not receive one, he spoke again. ¡°We know she is here, hiding her will only try the emperor¡¯s patience. Bring her and we will be on our way.¡± The people murmured amongst themselves, some folding their arms, some shaking their heads, a few discreetly going back inside. Magnar sighed. ¡°Very well.¡± He motioned to the other riders. ¡°Search the town, find the woman, if anyone resists, you know what to do.¡±


    The soldiers dismounted their horses and began shoving through the crowd, most of the people giving them a wide berth, the ones who did not, got hit. They broke down the doors to every home, every shop, destroying furniture, throwing everything out the windows, dragging people outside and beating them with coshes, all this not because they needed to, but because they wanted to. Finally, after an hour of this atrocity, the soldiers dragged the old healer woman from her home, beating back anyone foolish enough to try and stop them. They forced her to where the Captain sat on his horse, holding her like a prisoner of war. Magnar looked down at her. He pulled a glowing crystal from a pouch on his belt and tossed it to one of the soldiers holding her.


    ¡°Place it to her skin.¡± He ordered. The man placed the crystal against the woman¡¯s neck. Nothing happened at first but then the gem glowed bright and the light passed into the elderly healer¡¯s body, the crystal disintegrating in the soldier¡¯s hand. Magnar nodded, satisfied. ¡°Put her with the rest.¡± He said, waving them away. The soldiers complied, taking the woman to the back of the siege transport, opening the doors and shoving her inside before slamming it shut again. One of the soldiers walked up to Magnar.


    ¡°Sir, what of the town?¡± Magnar looked out at the broken houses, the bruised and bleeding people.


    ¡°Burn it down.¡± He said quietly, almost to himself. The soldier hesitated.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir, what was that?¡±


    ¡°These people refused to cooperate, they harbored a person of interest and showed insufficient respect to their empire and, more importantly, their Emperor. I said. Burn. it. Down.¡± With that, the captain turned his horse, leading half the soldiers and the siege transport out of the town. As they rode, a growing cloud of smoke rose up in the sky behind them, and the town of Kerihor was no more.


    ¡­


    The high city of Averynce, shining capital of the grand Melcanian Empire. Covering nearly 200 square miles, and home to over 4 million people, it was by far the largest city in the Northern Continent, nay, all of Divisia. Ringed with walls of dark stone and accented with gold, Averynce had stood proudly for over 800 years, built atop the ruins of the fallen city of Anthos. The massive city was separated into 3 circular districts, each one becoming more exclusive and ostentatious as they got closer to the city¡¯s center.


    The Mud District lied outside of the walls, coarsely named to describe the area where the poor were kept. The Trade District was located inside the outer wall, and was where the vast majority of business was conducted, filled with all manner of shops, factories and other such buildings. The Coin District, a 24 square mile circle that rested in the center of the city, guarded by the additional inner wall. The rich and the noble lived in this district, a few hundred, lording over millions within the safety of their walls and the confidence of their mansions. But the grandest quality of this extravagant expanse of stone, of this forest of buildings, was the Tower Keep, an absurdly large tower that stood in the center of the Coin District.


    The Tower Keep was a monolithic structure, over 1500 feet in height, taller and larger than any other building ever constructed, it was a standing city. The man made mountain stood as a large collection of many interlocking towers which grew narrower as they rose, until they peaked at the top with one large tower. Within its jeweled halls was a plethora of uses and functions; grandiose apartments reserved for society¡¯s best, the imperial treasury, an airship hangar, the imperial council chamber, to name a few. The greatest of all, however, was the Emperor¡¯s palace, an entirely separate structure built on the very top of the Tower keep, a gloriously constructed castle of glass and marble. It contained the throne room, the emperor¡¯s private sky gardens, the great hall, and of course, spacious living quarters for the grand monarch.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Emperor Alric sat with his advisors in the council chamber, a large room located only a few levels below the palace. The room was nondescript, with only a few banners and a large circular table with an open center to decorate its bland appeal. Alric feigned interest as a dozen advisors talked about the affairs of the empire, but his mind was preoccupied with other thoughts.


    Corvus stood by his side, writing notes in a small booklet the man carried with him everywhere, refusing a seat despite there being more than enough room. The smiling foreigner was more at home being the only man on his feet than the dozen purebred Melcanians that sat silently judging him. A comfortable, confident individual that knew that deep down they envied him, hated him for being the Emperor¡¯s chief advisor, him, a foreign swine born outside of nobility. Corvus leaned down to the emperor¡¯s side.


    ¡°My Emperor, are you with us? General Kliin is going over the current campaign.¡± Alric silenced him with a near imperceptible wave of his hand.


    ¡°Very well, continue General, this might actually be of interest to me.¡± General Kliin looked briefly at a document that he had on the table in front of him, then met the emperor¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°My Emperor, the campaign in the southern reaches of the empire, particularly the lands of Kgnaska, is going quite well. We have acquired 7 new subjects, in addition to 27 potential subjects in this past month alone. I feel that if we keep our current approach, we could more than triple those numb-¡±


    ¡°What do you mean by potential subjects? I thought there was a way of knowing.¡± If Kliin was put off by the interruption, he did not show it, but Corvus could still detect the frustration in the old man¡¯s voice.


    ¡°We are still not certain exactly how their powers are obtained, the Geargandian alchemists suspect that it could pass on through a person¡¯s lineage, therefore we are also collecting people who are related to confirmed Crystal Borne.¡± Alric nodded his head absently, not enthralled by the discussion.


    ¡°Hmm, I see. And what of resistance? I have heard whispers of dissension among the southward territories.¡± To this, Kliin merely chortled, unable to contain his amusement.


    ¡°Trust me when I say, that anyone who has shown even a modicum of animosity towards the empire, or to you, my Emperor, have been¡­ adequately dealt with.¡± The general sat back in his chair, images of fire, blood, and the horrors of war, playing whimsically in his head. Alric seemed satisfied by the answer, but one could hardly tell given the man¡¯s perpetual asperity, Corvus had noted that the Emperor¡¯s smile was a rare occurrence.


    ¡°Good, good. Well it sounds as though things are in order. Now , if you will excuse me, gentlemen.¡± Alric pushed his seat out and stood up to leave. Travvis, an advisor over imperial agriculture raised his hand, trying to stay the emperor.


    ¡°But, but, my Emperor, we still have many¡­ things to¡­ discuss...¡± Alric¡¯s icy gaze bored deep into his soul, silencing the timid man.


    ¡°I said that this meeting was over, my command, not yours, do not forget your place. Now, I have more pressing matters to attend to. I trust even you can handle the empire¡¯s business without me.¡± With that Alric left the council chamber, leaving the mildly disgruntled advisors silently bickering to themselves, not daring to voice grievance. Corvus stood there, quietly smirking at the laughable little men around the table, and then took his leave.


    ¡­


    Alric pushed the grand, eloquently carved doors of black and gold inward, entering the great hall of his palace. The extensive room of dark marble and high, muralled windows was empty, with the exception of 12 young men standing side by side in a line down the length of the room, all wearing loose shirts and pants of a plain, brown coloration. Alric walked in front of them until he reached the center of the room, then turned and silently observed them, holding back an impulsive excitement. They were all Melcanians, pale and black haired, but Alric would have had nothing less, other races being beneath him. Corvus entered the room after the emperor, his arms folded behind his back as he walked to Alric¡¯s side.


    ¡°Is the selection to your liking, your grace?¡± The tactful Geargandian waved his hand to the men, some of which were barely 25 years of age, still boys. Alric nodded distractedly, not paying Corvus much mind. He walked languorously down the line, taking his time as he went over their features, lightly brushing his hand over some of their faces or chests as he passed them. He stopped in front of one of the young men, a boy of about 30 years of age, with short black hair, and soft blue eyes that shined like glittering pools of topaz.


    ¡°You there, remove your shirt.¡± The boy removed his shirt without hesitation, revealing a tight, lean physique. Alric tentatively reached out and touched the boy¡¯s chest, then moved his hand from the chest down to the boy¡¯s navel, his eyes closed as he released a shuddering breath of exhilaration. Alric pulled his hand away, pausing before opening his eyes.


    ¡°Remove your pants.¡± Once again, the young man complied without protest, used to this kind of work. He kicked off his loose pants and stood there, open, naked, smiling coyly at the emperor¡¯s obvious infatuation. Alric looked at the boy¡¯s penis, surprisingly hung for his age. He reached down and grasped the young man¡¯s plums, lifting them up and down as though he were weighing fruit at a market. The boy gasped, not expecting the emperor¡¯s icy touch. Alric removed his hand, satisfied.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Rorick, your grace.¡± Alric nodded, absently musing.


    ¡°Yes, you¡¯ll do. Come with me.¡± He looked down the line. ¡°Also¡­ you, and¡­ you.¡± He said, indicating two of the others. He turned his attention to Corvus, the man standing unabashed and comfortable, always at his majesty¡¯s service. ¡°Take the rest and send them on their way. Make sure that each is given a silver Imperio for their time.¡± Corvus gave a short, respectful bow, putting his arms out to the side.


    ¡°Of course, my Emperor, by your will.¡± Alric left the room, the 3 men following, Rorick still bare as he sauntered along. Corvus made a note in his booklet, chuckling to himself, then turned to the remaining young men. ¡°If you would follow me, I will escort you out of the palace. You will receive your promised payment once we reach street level.¡± He walked out of the room, the boys following behind him, and although he kept his hands folded behind his back and his eyes forward, he was well aware of everything going on around him, and not one them dared to steal from the lavish halls under the watchful eyes of the smiling foreigner from the east.


    ¡­


    General Rilestad hated elevators, he did not trust them. Rising through the heights of the Tower Keep in one of the Geargandian¡¯s magic boxes, he could not help but feel a little on edge at the thought of an endless emptiness beneath his feet, going all the way to the ground¡­ Oh gods. He would have gladly taken the stairs, but the hour grew late, and he did not have time to climb the insurmountable reaches of the manmade mountain. The Tower had taken such an extraordinary amount of stone, that they had mined out an entire range for its construction, laying the ground flat as a valley, a fact that still astonished him to this day. Needless to say, he could not climb that many steps, not if he wanted to reach the palace before the Emperor retired for the evening.


    The elevator rumbled along its track, gears audibly clanking and turning, as if counting the seconds that he was in this cramped space. The front the contraption was merely an extending gate, allowing Rilestad to see the side of the shaft as he ascended ever higher, much to his chagrin. The box slowed, shaking as it came to a stop on the last floor, the palace level. Rilestad pulled open the gate, and walked out into the hall, taking a deep breath to collect himself, he would definitely be walking back down. Two guards stood in the short hall, guarding the reinforced, yet beautifully designed, set of doors that led into the main area of the palace. Rilestad walked the length of the hall, the guards opening the doors before he even reached them, knowing full well who he was.


    ¡°General.¡± One the guards dipped his head respectfully. Rilestad paid the man no attention, walking with purpose through the jeweled, decadent halls of gold, crimson silk, and black marble. He knew exactly where he was going, rounding the corner and climbing the stairs to the next level, glorified banners and rich paintings lining the walls, leaving hardly any space exposed. The general had been here before, many times in fact, the layout of the palace ingrained within his mind.


    Rilestad came to the door he knew all too well, dark wood, carved with images of the empire¡¯s various landscapes. It had been his father¡¯s door. Rilestad raised his hand to the wood. Now, it was Alric¡¯s. Ignoring the peculiar sounds coming from the room, Rilestad knocked. He waited a few moments, and then knocked again. Before he could remove his hand from the door, it swung inward, Alric standing there, shirtless, with a loose pair of silk pants clearly put on in haste.


    ¡°I thought I gave orders not to be distur- Oh, it¡¯s you, what do you want at this hour?¡± Alric looked at Rilestad with impatient eyes, clearly frustrated at the intrusion. Rilestad gave a slight, almost imperceptible bow, acknowledging Alric¡¯s position.


    ¡°Hello, brother.¡± He looked past Alric into the room, seeing 3 boys lying on the bed, naked, open, two of them kissing, one of them looking at Rilestad seductively. Rilestad looked back to Alric. ¡°I see you have company. I don¡¯t quite care though, I have matters I need to discuss with you, you can get to your¡­ friends, afterward.¡± Rilestad spoke to Alric with the authority of an older brother, and he was perhaps the only man alive that could get away with it. Alric begrudgingly agreed, closing the door and stepping into the hall.


    ¡°What was so important that you had to interrupt my evening, brother?¡±


    ¡°I wanted to speak to you concerning the current campaign.¡± Alric gave Rilestad a tired look.


    ¡°Well, out with it, what about it?¡±


    ¡°I feel that our current approach is too aggressive. Kliin is a good general, yes, but he¡¯s rash, his tactics excessive and extreme. A lot of good people are being hurt, their homes destroyed, entire towns, gone. And what¡¯s more, our soldiers are rounding people up who are not even confirmed Crystal Borne, merely because their second cousin twice removed had an aunt who could light a stove with her fingers? Is this how we are to conduct ourselves? In our own lands?¡± Rilestad shook his head, Alric just staring apathetically with cold eyes. Rilestad remembered a time when those eyes had seemed warm, but that was a long time ago.


    ¡°I am satisfied with Kliin¡¯s progress, despite the unfortunate¡­ collateral damage. As for the people we are gathering, the alchemists of the Euganever Institute suspect related family members of a Crystal Borne could hold potential, even if not immediately visible.¡± He paused. ¡°Are we done here?¡± Rilestad did not care for his brother¡¯s careless disregard for the unnecessary damage being wrought by Klinn¡¯s command, but Alric was the emperor, not him, he had refused that title, and now he had to put up with it.


    ¡°I just feel, that we could be going about this in better ways.¡± He sighed. ¡°There needn¡¯t be so much wanton chaos.¡±


    ¡°What would you suggest? That I put you in charge of the campaign?¡±


    ¡°I was not saying that. I am merely asking, as a brother, to think of the people.¡± Alric was beginning to get agitated.


    ¡°Which people, brother? The desert dwellers who showed so much restraint when they murdered our brother? The people of the southward valleys? The ones who, to this day openly reject our rule, despite all the empire has done for them, all that our father, that I have done for them. I am thinking of our people, brother, the people of the north, the trueborn of Melcania. Now. Please. Leave.¡± Rilestad stood solemn, looking at Alric, feeling defeated.


    ¡°My Emperor.¡± He muttered quietly, turning to leave. Alric watched him go with uncaring eyes, then went back into the room.

 Chapter Seven: Dreams of Sand

    Ryan found himself standing inside a great building with high walls of tan colored bricks. The banners of an unknown nation hung all around, brown, silver, a broken crown¡­ strangely familiar. He began walking down the deserted halls, gingerly brushing his hands on the brown pillars as he passed them. It was marble, or so he thought, he had never actually seen it, only in books that Mary read to him, most of the buildings in Mirratroy being made of wood, stone, and other simple materials.


    Ryan marveled at all he was seeing, all the fine materials, the portraits, the tables, chandeliers, everything had to be worth a fortune. He was tempted to pocket a candlestick, yet, as he reached out he felt silly, he could not quite place it, but he felt like he was home, and one does not steal from oneself. He came to a decorative set of doors with golden handles. Ryan went for the handle, but stopped when he heard his name, low, almost a whisper. He looked around, his hand hovering over the golden gleam of the handle, but all there was was empty halls. The voice came again, louder this time. It was coming from inside the room.


    Ryan opened the door, coming into a room far larger than anything he had ever seen. The ceiling was made of glass, the floor was polished and had a picture of a strange man on it. The far end of the hall had a throne, like from the story books, and all of the walls hung heavy with more of same brown banners. Ryan looked all around at the grand hall of unparalleled beauty, not able to wrap his mind around it, when he heard his name again. He looked down from the ceiling, and there, in the center of the room, was a woman, standing with her back to him.


    Slowly, he approached her. The woman had long black hair, blacker than anything he had ever seen, and she wore a long, dark blue cloak that came down to the floor, obscuring all her features. Ryan was sure he did not know this woman, but he felt a haunting sense that that was not true. He got closer, to the point he was barely 10 feet away from her.


    ¡°Hello?¡± She did not answer him. ¡°Who are you?¡± The woman stood silent, unmoving. Ryan came even closer, to the point he was standing right behind her. He reach out to touch her shoulder.


    ¡°My, how you¡¯ve grown, my little prince.¡± Ryan¡¯s hand froze in mid air. The voice, he had heard that voice, but where? Where had he heard it? A dream? A memory? He broke free of the spell and laid hold of the woman¡¯s shoulder, spinning her around.


    ¡°Hey, who are yo-¡± The body turned, but when it faced him the clothes were empty, falling to the ground in front of him. He stood perplexed, his hand still holding onto the air where she had stood.


    ¡°Ryan.¡± The voice whispered, almost in his ear. He turned around. A man with skin black as night, and hair down to his navel stood grinning, Ryan staring down the barrel of a flint pistol. Before he could even cry out in surprise, thehammer fell, the powder ignited, and everything went black.


    Ryan lurched up in bed, immediately being greeted with pain. Breathing heavily, he opened his eye, the other one swollen shut. Looking around he saw that he was back in his small, cupboard sized room in the Sozzled Parrot. Ryan relaxed a little, lyingback down. A dream, it was just a dream. He laughed at himself for being so stupid, met with additional waves of pain for the movement. He looked down at himself. He had pants on, but nothing else, and it seemed as though every exposed piece of skin he could see was covered in bandages, all around his chest, covering the left side of his face, all down his right arm and half of his left. I guess they really got me good. Ryan groaned, needing a drink of something other than water. There came a short knock on the door, and Mary came inside.


    ¡°I thought I heard you in here, how are you feeling?¡± She tried to sound relaxed, casual, but her face was sick with worry. Ryan did not like seeing her like this. She was not his mother, not by birth at least, but when Ryan had been brought ashore, half drowned, cold, and alone, he had been taken in by the women of the Sozzled Parrot, and Mary had become special to him. She had read to him, taught him his letters, fed and clothed him, treated him with kindness, most likely, because he reminded her of her own son¡­ before he¡­ Ryan smiled, putting on a brave face for Mary.


    ¡°I¡¯m alright, really I am, this is nothing, just a scratch.¡± He laughed, wincing as his ribs threatened to kill him. Mary knelt down beside him, brushing his hair out of his face.


    ¡°My boy, my sweet, sweet boy.¡± She ran her fingers gingerly over the bandages on his arms. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I almost lost you. If Reis hadn¡¯t shown up to help you...¡± She kissed the back of his hand, stifling tears. Ryan grimaced, pulling his hand free. He did not like making Mary feel this way, and yet, he seemed to do it a lot. Getting injured, street gambling, stealing brits out of the till, hitting on taken women¡­ being in the gang. His mistakes, which should have been his alone, wrought pain and sadness for the woman who had become his mother. Ryan smiled again, trying to reassure her.


    ¡°Really, I¡¯m fine, a few days and I¡¯ll be good as fresh sails. Really, you should have seen the other guys, I heard Reis crushed that Blade like a coconut, they¡¯ll think twice bef-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about that!¡± Mary took his face in her hands, eyes looking deeply into his, filling with tears, long curls of sunset hair framing her face in fire, demanding Ryan¡¯s attention. ¡°I don¡¯t care about Blades, and Terrors, Hooks, or Howlers.¡± The tears broke free, running down her care worn features, seemingly avoiding her scattered freckles as they fell down to her chin and onto the bandages of Ryan¡¯s chest. ¡°look what this gang has done to you!¡± She gestured frantically at his broken body, her voice wavering almost as much as her crimson hair. ¡°Those men almost killed you!¡± Ryan¡¯s face went neutral, avoiding those eyes, those eyes that made him feel, focusing his gaze on the window. ¡°Why do you have to get involved in all this?¡± Mary rested her head on his chest, silently defeated, caressing the side of his face with her smooth fingers, the fingers of a woman who sacrificed more than the washerwomen and baker¡¯s wives in order to provide for someone she loved. ¡°My boy, my sweet, sweet boy, why can¡¯t you just leave this gang?¡± She lifted her head up, looking up at him, trying to meet his gaze, but his eyes were set hard on the clouds and the gulls. ¡°You can live a good life here on the islands, a happy life, without all the dangers and bloodshed in the Salt Gangs. Please?¡± Ryan looked back at her with his good eye, his face a mixture of pain, guilt, sadness, and anger.


    ¡°I¡¯ve told you before, I don¡¯t want to leave the gang, they¡¯re my brothers, we watch out for each other.¡± He sighed, shaking his head, unsure of who he was trying to convince, her, or himself. ¡°Being in the Terrors, is a good opportunity, you know that. Not just money, but respect, protection, maybe even my own ship someday!¡± Ryan threw his arms out to the side, too emotional to let pain dictate his body. ¡°A crew of my own, answering to no one but Reis! That would be good for all of us!¡± Mary stayed silent, eyes watching the sheets. Ryan took on a softer tone, moving her flaming hair out of the way, gently holding the side of her face with his good hand. ¡°You, me, Jim, the other girls in the pub, we could have so much more.¡± Tears threatened to come, he pushed them back down, for men did not cry. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have to work anymore, we could get a nice house by the water, you could have pretty dresses.¡± Mary took his hand off her face, avoiding his eyes as fresh tears welled up.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need a house by the sea.¡± She stood up. ¡°I don¡¯t need pretty dresses.¡± She ran her fingers through his hair. ¡°I just want you to be happy, I just want you to be safe.¡± She turned, walking to the door without looking at him. Mary hesitated at the door, gripping the handle. ¡°But I fear that you won¡¯t be able to have both.¡± She opened the door and went out. Ryan called after her, but she was gone.


    ¡­


    ¡°Ehhhh, it don¡¯t look that bad.¡± Jim leaned over Ryan, uncomfortably close as he inspected Ryan¡¯s face, his breath smelling of afternoon rum. ¡°Honestly, the way they was talkin, I thought fo sure you were missing some fingers, or maybe an arm or somethin.¡± He lifted Ryan¡¯s left arm, knowingly ignorant to the pained grimace on the broken boy¡¯s face. ¡°But lookee there, here you be with all your tids and all your bits.¡± Jim dropped the arm, shrugging, his boyish face nonchalant, carefree. ¡°Truth be told, I¡¯m a little disappointed.¡± Ryan chuckled.


    ¡°Sorry, but I¡¯m all in one piece.¡± He winced, continuously forgetting about his ribs. Jim laughed, his blonde mess of hair waving as he shook his head side to side.


    ¡°Yeah, barely.¡± He poked Ryan¡¯s bandaged chest. ¡°You¡¯re lucky them Blades didn¡¯t gut you good.¡± Ryan sat up up a little straighter, grunting in effort.


    ¡°Yeah, well, I¡¯m kind of lucky in that, Captain Reis showed up.¡± Jim¡¯s face lit up at the mention of the captain, his smile growing into an ever wider grin.


    ¡°The Cap¡¯n? Oh, I¡¯d a loved to see that. Put the fear of the Nameless in em?¡± Ryan nodded, his eyes wide as he remembered the sound of Finn¡¯s ribcage shattering into the bricks... He smiled, hiding his discomfort behind a mask.


    ¡°You have no idea. Reis picked one of them up like a doll and fucking broke him, slammed him so hard into the bricks that the man cracked like an egg.¡± Jim did a little spin, moving his feet in a short jig. He was odd like that, humorous and carefree, still holding onto childish innocence.


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯ll show em Blade bastards what for.¡± He laughed, putting his hands on his hips. ¡°Still can¡¯t believe Cap¡¯n Reis, the fucking Giant of Britva, was just there strollin along.¡± He looked at Ryan, raising his eyebrows. ¡°Pretty damn unlucky for em Blades if you ask me. I mean, just, WHOOM!¡± Jim mimicked shoving someone into the wall, looking down at the ground as if observing a body. He shrugged. ¡°Dead¡±. Suddenly, Jim¡¯s face lit up again, and he turned back to Ryan. ¡°Oy, I just remembered, I popped by Walsh¡¯s bakery earlier. I told her you was injured and she gave me this for you.¡± He pulled a paper coated ball out of his pocket, holding it up with a smile before promptly tossing it at Ryan, who still managed to catch it with a hand covered in bandages. Ryan opened the twine wrapped bundle to reveal a freshly baked sweet roll, still warm to the touch, coated with sugared cream. Ryan looked at the roll, then at Jim, confused.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Mrs. Walsh just gave this to you?¡± Jim just shrugged.


    ¡°She may have mentioned somethin bout addin it to yer debt.¡± Ryan laughed, stopping short when his ribs reminded him not to do that. He rubbed them gingerly with his free hand.


    ¡°Yeah, that sounds like Mrs. Walsh.¡± Jim gave a sly smile, looking over his shoulder as if making sure they were not being watched.


    ¡°I also got a couple other things.¡± Jim reached back into his pockets and retrieved a number of other baked goods, a loaf of bread, a couple sugar biscuits, a honey roll, and a half eaten meat bun. He tossed each one at Ryan as he pulled them out, all except for the meat bun which he promptly shoved into his mouth. Ryan looked at the horde of goods in his lap.


    ¡°She¡¯s going to fucking kill you.¡± Jim tried to speak, but his mouth was so full of meat and bread that all that came out was garbled gibberish, savory juices dribbling down his chin. He chewed the monstrous mouthful deliberately, his face contorting in weird shapes, and then swallowed in one giant gulp. Jim wiped his mouth and grinned.


    ¡°Come on, ya can¡¯t say yer not impressed. I looted that place good and none¡¯s the wiser.¡± Ryan could not argue, it was pretty good, Jim had gotten a lot better with his hands. He remembered when the kid had first joined the Crimson Terrors, all smiles, even then, but definitely no skill. By the Nameless, it had taken Ryan forever to teach him how to lift a pocket.


    ¡°You¡¯re still not as good as me.¡± He smirked, tossing the honey roll at Jim¡¯s face, who caught it just in time. The two laughed, as good friends do, eating baked goods and swapping drinking stories as the day carried on outside.


    ...


    Reis walked through the congested noon day streets, not having much trouble since everyone who laid eyes on the enormous man gave him a much deserved wide berth, looking at him as he passed as though the wheels in their heads had stopped spinning. It did not bother him any, he was used to the stares by now, the quiet whispers, the stories told over drinks and at the sewing circles. They were always exaggerated but, truth be told, he preferred it that way. Always be thought of as bigger than you really are, he always said.


    Reis trudged down the main road, past the market and its smells of fish and pineapples, past the Mermaid¡¯s Kiss, some of the girls calling out to him, laughing gayfully and waving from the windows, he paid them no mind. He continued a good while until he came to a moderate, two story building with a collection of men standing out in front of it, talking, laughing, drinking their afternoon rum. A large sign, hanging overhead, read, ¡°The Deadman¡¯s Tankard¡±, with what was surely a real skull stuck into the wood. Reis pushed past the layabouts, ducking his head under the overhang. Two men immediately stepped in front of the door, arms folded, black daggers on their hips, standing in his way. Reis looked down at them with no measure of patience or mercy, a man who would be entering one way or another. The two exchanged looks, and then decided that whatever they were being paid was not worth getting into a row with a giant. Reis grunted.


    ¡°Smart choice lads.¡± He moved inside the pub, a dimly lit place with air thick with smoke from the pipes of tavern goers sitting at the packed tables. The walls were painted in crimson, and the floors were level and finished. It would have almost seemed nice, if it were not for the nest of cutthroats that eyed him warily from every corner of the room, everyone putting stories and laughter on hold, silently whispering about the unwelcome intruder. Reis walked over to the bar and sat down heavily on a stool. The tapster, a young man with a shaved head and no shirt, stood there, cleaning a glass with a rag. ¡°Rum, in a large tankard.¡± The man looked up momentarily and continued to clean the already glistening glass.


    ¡°This is a Black Blade pub, yer not a blade.¡± Reis slapped the counter with his hand, causing some of the men in the room to stand halfway out of their seats, waiting for a fight. He removed his hand to reveal two Brits, shining golden in the dim light.


    ¡°Rum, in a large tankard.¡± He leaned over the bar, the tapster backing up instinctively. ¡°And a meeting with yer boss.¡± The barman went and poured the drink, setting it on the counter and pushing it towards Reis. He looked at the money on the counter, enough to pay for 20 drinks, then back at Reis.


    ¡°Cap¡¯n Kreek ain¡¯t in.¡± Reis drank heavily from the tankard, which seemed small in his hand despite its size. He set the empty mug down hard, glaring at the man impatiently.


    ¡°If yer lookin for more than two Brits, don¡¯t be. I may be a generous man.¡± He shrugged. ¡°But I also be a man who don¡¯t like me time wasted.¡± The barkeep¡¯s eyes blinked over to the tables, filled to the brim with knife wielding and gun toting Blades, it was quick, but so was Reis, who noticed the coward¡¯s waverings. ¡°Don¡¯t be thinkin for one second that yer safe in this room full of children.¡± He stared the man down, bigger than him even while sitting, his face hard, a man who would not lose sleep if things got ugly.


    A door at the far end of the room opened, the tapster looking over in relief as a man nearly as large, but not quite as tall, as Reis came lumbering in. The brute of a man wore simple attire, tattered sailor¡¯s pants and a black vest with no shirt. He wore a large black dagger on his hip, and carried a wide barreled blunderbuss on his back. His face was fat and had a thick, cruel scar that ran from his upper right brow, all the way down across to the left of his chin. His nose was large and bulbous, and had surely been broken a good number of times. But it was his eyes that were most troubling, black as his dagger, devoid of a soul, the eyes of a true killer. Reis had seen eyes like those, the same eyes as Jack. Scattershot Tom.


    ¡°Boss wants to see you in the back.¡± Tom stood patiently next to Reis, his massive gut, stronger than looks would suggest, pushing into Reis¡¯ side. The man looked at him as he would any man, undaunted by Reis¡¯s size, nor by the stories he had undoubtedly heard, and Reis respected that. He stood up, the stool groaning in relief, and followed Tom out of the room, every eye in the bar watching in silent speculation.


    They walked down a short hall to an ornate door of black wood, artistically designed with golden images of great sea beasts, guarded by two Blades armed with scatterguns. The men saw Tom and stepped out of the way, one of them opening the door for them as they approached. Tom went in first, squeezing his bulk through the entry with only mild difficulty. Reis followed after, and stepped into the room of a palace.


    The floors were fine stained wood, covered in a rich, Imperial rug straight from Averynce. The walls were black, clean, and decorated with exorbitant paintings, hung straight and neat, and golden candle sconces that lit up the room as though they were standing outside. At the back of the room was a desk of dark stained wood, covered in gold and lacking in costly restraint, sitting in front of a dormant fireplace of fine stone, with bookcases laden with more books than the rest of Britva combined, sitting on either side.


    In the middle of all this opulent excess was Captain Bartholomew Kreek, sitting casually in a comfy high backed chair with his feet, clad in fine leather boots, up on the desk. The man was pale, like any trueborn Melcanian, with short black hair and striking blue eyes that reminded Reis of the sea. He wore expensive attire, silk shirt and pants, a fine leather belt, and a black captain¡¯s coat, similar to Reis¡¯, but of much higher quality, complete with golden buttons. Kreek did not look at his guests as they entered, busy cleaning his fingernails with an expertly forged Kendorian dagger of black steel. Reis looked at the blade, a beautiful weapon, but anything from Kendor was nothing to sneeze at.


    Kreek looked over his nails, blowing on them, and then tossed the knife on the desk, bringing his attention to Tom and, more so, Reis. He looked over Reis with intelligent, disinterested eyes, his fingers steepled in front of his face. Reis stood silently, he was in Kreek¡¯s house, and if he was smart, he would let the man speak first. Kreek dropped his hands and pointed at Reis.


    ¡°You¡¯re smaller than they make you out to be.¡± He waved his arms out to the sides. ¡°The stories people tell, you¡¯d think you were ten feet tall and son of the Salt God himself.¡± Kreek smiled a knowing smile, his eyes analyzing Reis. ¡°But you like the stories, don¡¯t you? They make you feel bigger than you are.¡± He nodded his head empathetically. ¡°I can respect that.¡± He dropped his feet off the desk, taking on a more serious tone, the mood in the room shifting from jocular to consequential. ¡°Now, enough with all that, tell me what it is that brings you to my place of business, unannounced, and uninvited.¡± Reis looked down at Kreek, the man not much bigger Ryan, and yet his voice was underlined with knives, knives that sent a chill down the giant¡¯s back, this was a man without code or morals.


    ¡°I wanted to discuss a matter that happened the other night. I caught three of yer men pokin into me territory.¡± Kreek gave him a bored stare.


    ¡°Is that all? They were probably just deep in the cups and got lost.¡± He chuckled. ¡°I don¡¯t see how this merits wasting my time.¡± Reis did his best to keep composed, he did not care to be talked to in such a flippant manner.


    ¡°That be all fine and good, but I caught yer boys robbin and beatin one of mine. If I hadn¡¯t stepped in they would¡¯ve gut em.¡± Kreek¡¯s eyes lit up in realization.


    ¡°Ah, yes, I¡¯ve heard word of this. Finn and his group.¡± He drifted off, silently musing. He looked back at Reis. ¡°From the accounts I heard you broke Finn like a coconut and left him for the rats.¡± Reis opened his mouth to speak but Kreek raised his hand, silencing him. ¡°Now, I had no love for Finn, the man was a filthy, uneducated, layabout that I was probably going to take care of myself.¡± He shrugged. ¡°But, I can¡¯t just have people taking out my men without my say, it¡¯s kind of bad for business.¡± Reis was getting frustrated.


    ¡°They were in my territory without my consent, and they were killin one of me boys.¡± Kreek looked at him quizzically, pretending to think about it.


    ¡°But, you see, your man is still alive, isn¡¯t he? My man is dead.¡± He plucked the dagger off the desk and played with it in his hands, spinning it around on his fingers. ¡°If your man had died¡­ then I¡¯d say you have the right to crush Finn like a shellfish¡­¡± He paused, his eyes distant as he watched the blade move. ¡°But he didn¡¯t, and now we¡¯re here, in this awkward predicament.¡± Kreek stopped the dagger mid spin and stabbed it into the desk with expert technique.


    ¡°You can stop with the games, Kreek, you and I both know that all of this be just an excuse for you to try and muscle in on me business.¡± Reis stepped closer to the Desk, Tom instinctively moving to pull him back but Kreek stayed him with a wave of his hand, unintimidated by the towering man that stood before him. ¡°For years now you¡¯ve been eatin away at the other gangs, bullyin them, pushin them out of their parts of the city, all so you Blades can get the fattest parts of these Islands.¡± Kreek smiled, amused.


    ¡°Business is business.¡± He laughed as he toyed absently with the hilt of the dagger, only paying Reis minimal attention. Reis stepped closer, close enough he could easily reach over and ring the man¡¯s neck.


    ¡°We have codes, Kreek, don¡¯t be forgettin that.¡± Reis put his massive hands on the desk, towering over Kreek. ¡°We don¡¯t need this to go any further that it already has. Nobody be wantin a repeat of the Smiling Devils.¡± The Smiling Devils, a gang that had once rivaled The Black Blades, but was now all but extinct due to a mysterious fire that killed their captain¡­ as well as everyone else in the brothel. The Blades had gone in during the confusion and taken everything, all of the Devils¡¯ operations in Britva. Kreek looked up at Reis smugly, undaunted by the man¡¯s proximity, portraying a calm confidence and certainty that made Reis uneasy.


    ¡°I merely took advantage of an unfortunate¡­ accident.¡± He pulled the dagger free from the wood, looking it over. ¡°Nothing in the codes against that.¡± Reis scoffed.


    ¡°Accident, right.¡± Reis took his hands off the table, standing up to his full height. ¡°Let¡¯s be sure that another¡­ ¡°accident¡± don¡¯t be happening. I¡¯d be losin no sleep if I had to break you in half.¡± Kreek played with the knife, spinning it on his fingers in slow rotations, seemingly ignoring him. Reis turned to leave, Tom looked at Kreek, then grunted, stepping aside. Reis left, Tom shutting the door tight behind him. Kreek looked at the door, his face sinking into silent fury, the blade still spinning on his fingers. He threw the knife at the wall beside him without looking, the steel striking one of the candles dead center.

 Chapter Eight: A Pig in a Wig

    Chapter Eight: A Pig in a Wig


    Month of Harvest, Valtroy, Kgnaska


    The late Summer winds blew over the once great city of Valtroy, bringing with them the first breaths of Fall. The city sat atop the cliffs in a defeated heap, no songs to be sung, no laughter to warm its cold, broken stone. It laid mostly in ruins, even after all this time, the north wall that had fallen all those years ago, still a gaping hole in the perimeter of the city. The people went about their lives in service of the empire that they were now a part off, not daring to raise their heads in hope. Their king was dead, their queen was in chains or worse, they had no heir, no one to rally behind. The Melcanians glutted themselves upon the land, making themselves fat off of the harsh taxes set upon the people, sitting in golden palaces with guarded doors, laughing at the oppressed.


    Governor Gravis Bakker awoke to the sounds of gulls, their songs dragging him out of a most pleasant sleep. He tightened his eyes, denying the sunlight, not wanting to get up yet, Gods, the bed was so comfortable, so soft¡­ He had almost fallen back asleep, when there came a knock on his chamber doors.


    ¡°Governor? Sir? I know you said not to wake you, but the day is carrying on into the twelfth hour.¡± Bakker groaned in frustration, opening his eyes. He felt immediately at ease again when he saw the room he was in, and remembered that it was his. The golden fixtures, the muralled walls, the wonderful, four poster bed stuffed with feathers. For he was not a mere Lord anymore, but a Governor of the great empire. Kgnaska was his, to rule under the will of the Emperor... He might as well be a king.


    The large, obsessively obese man rolled over, the entire bed shifting from the movement of his weight, and sat up, placing his stubby feet on the cool stone floor. He turned his gaze to the doors, more gold than wood, taking on the haughty tone that came with his position.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready to get up, you may send the servants in.¡± A moment passed and then the doors were thrust open by a collection of young, and exceedingly beautiful, Kgnaskan girls, tanned skin smooth and without blemish, long chocolate hair soft as fresh silk, their lovely and over voluminous breasts held tight in simple servant attire. Bakker eyed the women lecherously as they worked to get his fat ass dressed and presentable, no easy task, as it took four of them just to get his pants on. If one thing was for certain, Bakker¡¯s promotion had made him anything but thinner, in fact, he had surely grown an extra two or three chins since his arrival in the territory, and every entryway in the castle had had to be remodeled to accommodate his girth.


    After an hour of tugging, pulling, tucking, brushing, plucking, and puffing, the girls finally had Bakker dressed and made up for the day, the end result resembling a pig in a wig that had been squeezed into a suit. The fat, grotesque thing looked at itself in the mirror, smiling proudly.


    ¡°Ah, yes, excellent job as always girls.¡± Bakker reached his flabby hand out and clasped one of the girls on the ass, holding it there. ¡°Excellent job indeed.¡± The corners of his mouth were already wet from excess saliva, and his breath came heavy from exertion just from standing. The girl stood there, head down, knowing better than to show reproach, doing her best to not retreat from his touch.


    Bakker laughed, dropping his hand, the girl shuddering in relief, but the man was too full of himself to notice. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I must get going, important governing matters to attend to.¡± Bakker waddled over to the door, one of the girls more than happy to open it for him if it meant being rid of him. He turned back to the beautiful servant women, undressing them with his sickly, puffy eyes. ¡°Do be sure to tidy the room while I¡¯m out, I want the floors clean enough to eat off of.¡± Bakker laughed again, and then bumbled off down the hall.


    The women started wiping down the room, sweeping the floors, making the bed, getting everything ready for the governor¡¯s return. The violated girl stood there, holding herself as she held back tears.


    ¡°I hope you choke.¡± Her voice was barely a whisper. The other girls nodded in agreement, not pausing from their tasks.


    ¡­


    The room that had been converted into an office for the Governor was relatively small, yet still shamefully wasteful in gold, silver, and other fine and valuable decorations, the rich excess that was the Melcanians¡¯ way. Bakker was at his elaborate desk of fine stained wood, elegantly carved with images he had never taken the time to observe, probably had something to do with nature or something. His sad, abused chair, once a work of art, now sunk low beneath his weight, its shape forever warped and ruined by the jiggling sack of fat that sat in it. Behind him the sun poured through the glass of the balcony doors, doors he had had sealed shortly after his arrival when he had gone outside and nearly passed out looking down over the edge. He could just picture himself falling, all the way down to those cobblestones¡­ Needless to say he was not a fan of heights.


    Bakker¡¯s mind was on more important matters now, like what was taking his lunch so long to get here. He drummed his fingers impatiently, rumbling stomach pains giving him a headache. His advisor stood exasperated off to the side, the day already at a late start and not to mention the governor¡¯s absolute refusal to discuss important matters before eating. The man sighed, shifting the papers in his hands.


    ¡°Governor Bakker, I mean no disrespect, but perhaps, while we wait, we could go over some business?¡± Bakker was about to berate him when the doors to the office burst open, two servants pushing in large rolling carts with silver platers piled on them. They wheeled them to the front of the desk and lifted the shining lids off of each one, revealing all manner of delicacies, snapper fish eggs with nectarine jelly, Kgnaskan oysters slathered in butter, desert berries from Lithia, and so much more. The servants lifted the platers off the carts and set them down on the desk in front of Bakker, covering nearly every inch of the surface with food.


    Bakker completely forgot about what he was going to say, immediately digging his greasy paws into anything and everything, not bothering with silverware, there was no one there to impress anyway. The servants gave a respectful bow and then pushed the empty carts back out of the room. His advisor stood there watching him eat, doing his best not to grimace at the wanton lack of manners or etiquette. Observing as the food was scooped up and stuffed inside that gaping maw, vanishing down the fat man¡¯s gullet faster than he could shovel it in. He looked at the papers in his hands, remembering suddenly what he had come in for.


    ¡°My governor, we really do need to discuss a few matters.¡± Bakker was halfway through a set of enormous lobster tails, seemingly ignoring him. He sighed, why did he even bother? ¡°Sir, if we could, there¡¯s only a few documents.¡± Bakker looked up with a mouth full of lobster, more than a little perturbed by the pestering interruptions.


    ¡°What is so important, I say, that it can¡¯t wait until after lunch?¡± The advisor held up the papers, raising his eyebrows expectantly. ¡°Fine, bring them here, Desmond. If I¡¯d known there¡¯d be work involved with this position I might not have taken it.¡± Although, the room is nice¡­ and the food. He brushed aside some of the empty dishes, letting them fall to the floor, moving the unfinished plates to the corner of the desk. Bakker wiped his filthy hands on an embroidered napkin, tossing the stained thing onto the heap on the floor. Desmond set the papers down in front of him, allowing him a few moments to go over them. Bakker sighed heavily, looking over the documents with drained disinterest. The pestering little man stood next to him, reading over his shoulder.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°Ah, yes, as you see, Chief Advisor Corvus is wishing for an update on the city¡¯s reconstruction.¡± He pointed with slender fingers to the text on the page. ¡°He wants to know if the Imperial treasury needs to send more funds for the project.¡± Bakker grinned deviously.


    ¡°Inform the man that repairs to the city are going well, but that we need another 40,000 golden Imperios due to¡­ unexpected shortcomings.¡± The greasy fat man laughed boisterously, as if any of that money was going to the city. Desmond grimaced, but moved to the next page, ignoring the Governor¡¯s blatant deceptions.


    ¡°General Kliin is also requesting to house Imperial soldiers inside city limits, apparently they¡¯ve brought more men down from the North than they have room for and Kliin is looking for more permanent living arrangements than that dusty base camp they set up.¡± Bakker looked at him as if wondering why he was being bothered with such things. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Governor, but it does require your approval.¡± Bakker looked over the document, muttering the words as he read them.¡± He stopped; his brow furrowed as he came to one part that troubled him.


    ¡°All expenses paid by the Kgnaskan Territorial treasury, including housing, food, etc?¡± Bakker looked at Desmond, bewildered. ¡°They¡¯re expecting me to pay for their room and board? Do we even have the Imperios for that?¡± Desmond pulled out a small book from inside his cloak, flipping through it.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see, General Kliin wants to house 1267 men in available houses¡­ We have a positive balance of 6920 golden Imperios¡­ No, we don¡¯t currently have the funds.¡± Bakker nodded, thinking. He leaned back in his chair, the worn thing groaning loudly in protest.


    ¡°Hmmm, well, how much are we currently taxing?¡± Desmond flipped through the book again, skimming with his fingers.


    ¡°Eh, 27%, but estimates suggest we could push as high as 40.¡± Bakker laughed, his entire frame jiggling.


    ¡°It¡¯s settled then, raise taxes to 35% and inform Kliin that we are more than happy to have men of the Imperial army stay as guests in our¡­ lovely city.¡± He laughed again, and reached for the plates of unfinished food. He did not care if there was more business, he was done for now. He went to work on a roast piglet, tearing into the meat with vicious vigor. Desmond gathered up his papers and left the bloated lard man to his feeding frenzy.


    ¡­


    Coin District, Averynce, Melcania


    The day was unseasonably warm for the beginning of Autumn, the cold and ice that haunted the land most of the year kept at bay by the sun¡¯s shining light, surely a gift from Solan. Everywhere in the city the people, both rich and poor, were taking advantage of the glorious weather. Lady Polisa sat in the quiet serenity of the gated gardens of her manor, tucked within the exclusive confines of the Coin District walls, sipping genteel tea imported from the East. She let the warmth and sun wash over her, listening to castle finches sing their songs within the stony crevices of the city they called home.


    The flowers were still in bloom, due to the late heat, bringing a colorful beauty to her gardens, blues, reds, yellows, and white. The white flowers where her favorite, they reminded her of snow, of clouds, of all the innocent and tender things in this world. Polisa set her teacup down on the sun table and picked up the porcelain teapot, frowning as she realized it was empty. She set it back down and rang the golden little bell she had sitting next to it. A young man with handsome features and eyes that shined like topaz, stepped up to the table next to her, clad in customary servant attire.


    ¡°Yes, my Lady?¡± Polisa glanced up at the man, giving a curt smile.


    ¡°Ah, yes, Rorick, if you would be so kind as to bring me some fresh tea.¡± Rorick nodded, taking the tea set. ¡°Oh, and do bring out my lunch, some sandwiches would be divine.¡± Rorick smiled, nodding again.


    ¡°Of course, my Lady, right away.¡± He went away, leaving her alone once more. Polisa leaned back in her cushioned garden chair, closing her eyes as she breathed in the scent of the flowers. Before she could even ponder his whereabouts, Rorick was back, carrying a tray of fresh tea and a plate of finger sandwiches, prompt, as always. He set the tray down and poured the tea, preparing it perfectly to her tastes, 2 sugars and a dash of cream, handing it to her with a respectful bow. Polisa took the cup delicately, as a lady should, sipping the impeccable beverage, they did not make tea like this in the West. She took another sip, savoring the blend, then set the cup down on the tray, plucking a finger sandwich from the plate and eating it in gentle, ladylike bites. Rorick stood to the side, at his lady¡¯s beck and call. ¡°Is everything to your liking, my Lady?¡± Polisa took another sip of tea, then dabbed her mouth with a monogrammed handkerchief.


    ¡°Yes, yes, quite. Thank you Rorick.¡± He smiled, dipping his head again. Polisa took a second sandwich, eating it slower than the first, her gaze looking thoughtfully up at the Tower Keep which dominated the heart of the Coin District. She often fantasized about its jeweled halls, about those palatial suites that only the highest of society were deemed worthy for. To see herself there, looking down upon the rest of the city, and the world itself in well deserved superiority. Yes, she had wealth, she had title, she had lands and manors, but to live there, in the one place money and influence could not buy, was a priceless dream of every lord and nobleman in the empire. But only those selected by the emperor were allowed, and he was not interested in bribes, much to Lady¡¯s chagrin.


    ¡°My Lady, is everything alright?¡± Polisa looked down and noticed she had mistakenly spilled tea in her lap, her mind having been elsewhere. Rorick came with a napkin, handing it to her.


    ¡°Thank you Rorick, I dare say I would lose my head if it was any looser on my neck.¡± She wiped the tea off her dress, frowning at the brown blotches left behind in the fabric which would most certainly stain. And I rather liked this dress. Rorick stood quietly observing, standing at a respectful distance.


    ¡°Forgive me, but you were thinking about the tower again, weren¡¯t you?¡± Polisa handed him back the napkin, which he folded and placed into his pocket. She looked back at the tower, not speaking for a time. She rested her chin on her hand, leaning against the garden table, musing.


    ¡°Yes, I was just picturing myself in one of those suites.¡± Polisa turned towards Rorick. ¡°Have you ever known you were meant for something more than what society has given you?¡± Rorick looked about the gardens, thinking about the spacious manor, only one of many in the Lady¡¯s possession. Polisa did not wait for an answer, too absorbed in herself. ¡°Ever since I was a little girl, I¡¯ve always had plenty, I¡¯ve wanted for nothing.¡± She sat back up, taking time to observe her nails. ¡°Everything I ever asked for was always given me.¡± Rorick nodded absently, half listening to his Lady¡¯s latest monologue. Polisa toyed with the teacup on the table, spinning it back and forth in slow rotations with a gentle push of her finger. ¡°And yet, despite that, I find myself denied this one small request. It¡¯s absolutely criminal.¡± Rorick almost chortled, as if residence in the Tower was anything small.


    ¡°Perhaps your latest venture will prove fruitful?¡± Rorick prepared another cup of tea, handing it to Polisa. She took the cup in her hands, but did not drink it, her eyes distant.


    ¡°Yes, quite.¡± She looked up at Rorick, the lines in her face showing her years. They were alone in the garden, but Polisa knew there were more than finches hiding in the walls. ¡°How have things been going with your¡­ second job?¡± She did her best to sound casual, just a Lady chatting with her servant, which was strange enough as it is. Rorick looked around the garden before speaking.


    ¡°It¡¯s going well, I¡¯ve had an audience with someone very highstanding.¡± He smiled knowingly, Polisa frowned at him and he stopped. She sipped the tea, gazing thoughtfully into its depths.


    ¡°Good, good, I am happy to hear of your success.¡± A cold wind blew through the garden, bringing a touch of Winter¡¯s chill. Polisa looked at the darkening skyline, watching frozen clouds make their way lazily towards the city, driving away the warmth that had graced the midday. ¡°Looks as though things are starting to move along.¡± She mused. She stood up, leaving the growing cold in favor of the inviting warmth of her fireplace, and perhaps a good book. Rorick cleared the table and followed after her, carrying the tray into the kitchen. The Tower Keep stood firmly against the growing wind, a cold monolith of stone, a silent witness to everything.

 Chapter Nine: An Angel in Britva

    Chapter Nine: An Angel in Britva


    Ryan had been lying in bed for three weeks, and he was ready to lose his mind. He had thrown a ball at the wall for a bit during the first week, but it had bounced out the window, much to his frustration. He had read what little there was to read at least twice now, and counted all of the cracks in the ceiling and walls. Ryan had done so much sleeping in the past three weeks he was sure he would never need to again, nor want to, silently put off by the fact that his injuries had ruined one of his favorite past times. Enough was enough, he could not take it anymore. Ryan swung his legs out of the bed and pushed himself up, using the bed frame for support.


    ¡°See, that¡¯s not so bad.¡± He winced; his ribs still not fully healed. Ryan quickly threw on some simple clothes, a loose white shirt and dirt brown pants. He hobbled out of the room, walking laboriously down the stairs, using the railing to steady his feet as he tried to remember how to walk on steps. When he got to the bottom of the stairs Ryan steadied himself against the wall, observing the packed and bustling bar while he waited for the pain in his ribs to subside. Mary saw him and immediately dropped everything and ran up to him, much to the disgruntled bewilderment of the drunkards she was in the middle of serving.


    ¡°Oy, what in bloody hell?¡± They sputtered, throwing their hands up. ¡°We¡¯re thirsty, wench!¡± Mary paid them no mind, too busy being a mother.


    ¡°Ryan! What on Divisia are you doing?¡± She put a hand on Ryan¡¯s shoulder, gingerly touching his side with her fingers, frowning at the few bruises that still persisted on his skin. ¡°You¡¯re still not well enough to be up and about, you should be in bed.¡± Ryan shook off her hand, not looking for pity in front of gawking onlookers.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, I¡¯m good enough to be about.¡± He shrugged, ignoring pangs in his body telling him otherwise. ¡°I needed to get up anyway, I can only lie down for so long before going crazy.¡± Ryan smiled wryly. ¡°Besides, Jim is probably lost without me, I think I¡¯ll go for a walk and see if I can find him.¡± Mary looked as though she might protest, but a look of defeat washed over her when she realized it would be in vain, Ryan was a good lad, but he was headstrong.


    ¡°Just promise me you¡¯ll be careful.¡± Ryan felt a sudden wave of guilt, but pushed it back down just as fast, men did not have time to feel. Hethought he should say something, something to reassure her, but his mind found nothing. The bar was growing impatient, saving him from the situation.


    ¡°Mary, shut yer yap and get these salt dogs their booze.¡± Ms. Gretchen loomed over the railing of the second floor, glaring down at them, the hefty woman hacking phlegm and pipe smoke in between sentences. ¡° I don¡¯t pay ya to chat with yer welp.¡± She took a long draw from her pipe, coughing up smoke. ¡°Ifn you don¡¯t want me to be kickin the lot o ya out, get back to work!¡± Mary nodded vigorously, turning towards Gretchen.


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am! Right away!¡± She gave Ryan a final, fleeting glance, her face forlorn, then put on a smile and went back to the tables. Ryan stood there, watching the bustling bar, his mind still thinking about Mary. He shook his head and left, there was nothing more to say.


    ¡­


    Ryan walked down the busy the streets, the morning sun shining brightly on what would be a perfect day. He smiled, taking in the smell of booze, of blood and salt, the island was his home, and he had missed being a part of it, the Nameless damn his prolonged confinement. The boy winced, reaching up to rub his chest, it did not feel like the ribs had healed right, but it was manageable, and Ryan loved being on the streets again. He walked through the crowd as a man who owned this city, feeling invincible, despite injuries trying to convince him differently.


    He made his way past the main streets, past the fish merchants with their latest catches, past the fruit vendors with their papayas and mangos, past the jewelers trying to sell him a new necklace of gold and silver. He came to the bars and the brothels, well, there were bars and brothels everywhere, even the Sozzled Parrot was a house of pleasure, but he came to the part of town that was deeply saturated with them, booze swilling sailors puking in the streets, passed out under street signs and in alleys before noon. Rats scurried, thieving buggers taking their fill of discarded bread or cheese and fleeing the shambling steps of the laughing drunkards.


    Ryan came to the side of a particularly run down brothel, more of a shack than anything else, cries of pleasure and release emanating loudly from its thin, ruined walls. At first glance, the alley was empty, with exception to the slinking rats, and the boozer taking a piss at the far end. However, Ryan could see a pair of legs sticking out from under a ratty blanket that was bundled up against the wall, gently rising up and down with each passing breath of the sleeping individual. Ryan shook his head, chuckling. Jim had a habit of sleeping in the alleys, despite numerous offers to let him sleep at the gang¡¯s hideout. Ryan guessed that when you have lived on the streets long enough, they become comfortable, and everything else becomes foreign.


    ¡°Come on, Jim, you¡¯ve slept it off by now, day¡¯s almost half gone.¡± There was no movement, only the rhythmic rising and falling of the blanket. Ryan went to lift the blanket, but as soon as he touched it the boy lurched awake, throwing off his covering, brandishing a sticking knife with suddenly alert eyes. He saw Ryan and relaxed, startled anxiety transforming into joy as his face lifted in a wide grin.


    ¡°Oy, ain¡¯t you a sight, Mary letting you walk bout already?¡± He laughed, getting up on his feet. He stowed the knife in his pocket, and Ryan would not have even known he had one if he had not already seen it. Ryan shrugged, ignoring pains in his shoulders.


    ¡°Well, she wasn¡¯t too pleased, but I can¡¯t stay in that room any longer.¡± Ryan threw his arms out to the side. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯d go mental if I had to rest anymore, this whole venture has ruined sleep for me.¡± Jim just laughed, slapping Ryan on the back, much to Ryan¡¯s discomfort.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go out and do some work.¡± The boy grinned ever wider. ¡°A good hustle will get ya right again.¡± Ryan nodded, trying not to let on just how broken he still was.


    ¡°Yeah, I suppose you¡¯re right.¡± The two boys walked off, leaving the drunken louts, the thieving rats, and all the painted, howling whores.


    ¡­


    Angeline sat in the quiet serenity of the gardens of Blackstone Keep, behind gated walls of smooth stone covered in vines and flowers. The place had been a gift to her from her father, the notorious Nathaniel Brimsley, High Captain of the islands of Mirratroy. She loved to sit in the warmth of the sun, listening to the gulls and tropical birds, smelling the flowers that her father had painstakingly had imported from lands far and wide. Despite all this, she never looked upon the beauties of the garden, never witnessed the colors of the rainbowed blossoms, for Angeline was blind.


    The sun rose and fell, the tides came and went, the flowers bloomed, died, and bloomed again, but the girl with fair skin and golden hair saw none of it, alone in a world of darkness. It sounded dismal, and many people took pity on the girl without sight, but Angeline had never minded. She had always been a happy child, and even now, as she grew into a young woman, she wore a smile, inside and out, refusing to consider herself lesser. She breathed deep, inhaling the intoxicating perfume produced by the flowers of a dozen nations.


    Her father may have been a feared man, known far and wide for his brutality, his lack of moral stigma, but he loved his daughter, doting upon the girl every chance he had. She was his sunrise, his little Macaw, the one thing in this world still holding him down to his humanity, and not even the Nameless could help those who offended her. Angeline loved her father, but she felt confined by him, restricted by his protective nature. She sighed, suddenly feeling quite lonely in the empty garden, wishing that more than birds would visit her.


    ¡­


    The day was carrying on into the evening, and Ryan and Jim counted their Sirens and packed up their cups. It had been a good haul, all things considering, and Ryan grinned to himself, for he was as sharp as ever, Blade bastards could not knock the skill out of him. Jim tossed his coin purse in the air distractedly, letting Ryan do most of the work.


    ¡°Made a good deal o money today.¡± He caught the purse, smirking. ¡°Maybe you should get knocked round more oftn.¡± Ryan laughed mockingly, stowing their supplies in an empty barrel.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, very funny.¡± He threw a blanket in the barrel, concealing the contents. It was not that hard to replace a few cups and a wooden board, but it was definitely cheaper, and less annoying, to just not lose them in the first place. Normally, he would have taken them with him, but he felt like shit, and the barrel was just as good a place as any. ¡°Ok, looks good, let¡¯s get go-¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°Well, well, well, lookee what we found, Clyde.¡± Ryan¡¯s heart sank, he would recognize that voice anywhere.


    ¡°Blades¡­¡± his voice barely a whisper. He turned around to see the tall man and the dark skinned man with hair longer than Ryan¡¯s arms. The man grinned, amused.


    ¡°Aye, so you remember us, don¡¯t ya pup?¡± Ryan nodded subconsciously, his mind numb with visions of fists, boots, blood, and pain. ¡°We weren¡¯t too keen on you lot killin Finn, were we Clyde?¡± The big man shook his head. ¡°No we wasn¡¯t, Dunshaw, I¡¯m thinkin we needs to be evenin that score.¡± The pair of them laughed, pulling out black daggers. Jim looked up as though he had just noticed the intruding biters, catching his coin purse and stowing it in his pocket as he looked at them with disinterest.


    ¡°Oy, Ryan, who¡¯s the guy with the mop on his head?¡± He smirked, not paying any mind to the knives. ¡°Sorry, fellas, but we¡¯re closed up for the day, come back tomorrow if you wanna place bets.¡± He spoke calmly, yet stepped around, casually closing the distance between him and Ryan. The long haired man, Dunshaw, did not like being taken lightly.


    ¡°Hey, who the fuck is this!?¡± He pointed at Jim with his dagger. ¡°This little cunt¡¯s even smaller than the other one!¡± The thugs laughed loudly, keeping their daggers trained on the boys. Jim grinned mischievously, giving Ryan a look that told him the boy was going to do something stupid. He shrugged.


    ¡°The way I sees it, there was three of ya last time, and ya couldn¡¯t even kill one boy.¡± Jim held up his fingers, counting in his head. ¡°Yeah, yer doomed with the two of us, too much for you Blade blunders to handle.¡± Dunshaw stopped laughing, when Clyde continued, he hit the man in the stomach, silencing him.


    ¡°Oy! What you say you little shit!? You¡¯re less of a man than the swimmers in me balls!¡± He spat on the ground in front of Jim and gestured at Clyde. ¡°You get the tall one, I wanna cut the tongue outa this pup.¡± The men began walking towards them, Ryan and Jim backing up down the alley, Jim keeping in front, knowing full well that Ryan was in no shape to fight. The boy kept his hands out to the sides, as if trying to calm an animal.


    ¡°Well, come on then, you Blades gonna do somethin or are ya just talk?¡± Dunshaw growled, coming up and grabbing Jim by the collar with surprising speed.


    ¡°YOU GOT A DEATH WISH WELP!?¡± Jim just smiled.


    ¡°No, but you do.¡± The knife appeared in Jim¡¯s hand as if by magic, and he sunk it into the man¡¯s arm just as quick, pulling it free and stabbing again, this time in the stomach. It was not a large blade, but it was big enough to do some damage, blood seeping through Dunshaw¡¯s shirt. The man howled, releasing Jim as he reeled back in pain, his dagger clattering to the ground. Jim stowed the bloody knife back in his pants and sprinted down the alley, dragging Ryan along with him. ¡°Run, less you wanna get cut!¡± Dunshaw cursed, snatching his weapon off the ground.


    ¡°Don¡¯t just stand there you bleedin idiot, after them!!¡± The two chased after the boys, Dunshaw swearing worse than any sailor. When Ryan and Jim got to the end of the alley, Jim shoved Ryan to the right, taking off left, before even a second had passed Jim was lost in the crowd. But now Ryan was alone. He took off down the street, the sounds of Clyde and Dunshaw following close behind as they shoved their way through vendors, sailors, and drunkards. The pain in his ribs was intense, his body furious at him for putting it through this much strain, Ryan knew he would not be able to keep this up long.


    They ran until they came upon the beach, the ruffians not giving the boy a moment¡¯s rest, determined to spill blood. Ryan turned and sprinted down the length of the coastline, nothing but determination keeping him going. He saw a large structure coming up, a high wall encircling it. To make matters even better, there were some barrels sitting against it, giving Ryan an idea that would either save him, or get him killed. He hoped for the first. With strength he did not realize he still had, he jumped on top of the barrels and lunged up, barely getting a hold of the top of the wall. But he could not slow down, the Blades were closing in. Ryan hauled himself up and over, letting himself fall onto the ground, in too much of a hurry to give himself a gentle landing. He laughed, a little hysterical at the close call, but so happy to be alive. A gentle, almost angelic voice brought him back to reality.


    ¡°Oh, hello.¡± Ryan looked up at the girl with golden hair, surrounded by flowers of a thousand shades and colors, appearing as an angel haloed in the light of the setting sun. She smiled tentatively, her eyes not quite meeting him. ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you, whoever you are, my name is Angeline.¡±


    Ryan did not know what to say, he was not even sure if he could, his chest still heaving from running the length of the island. He had climbed the wall of place he was pretty sure he was not supposed to be, but this girl seemed friendly enough, and she was quite beautiful. Angeline frowned, cocking her head to the side.


    ¡°Hello? Are you there?¡± She turned her head, confused. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I cannot see you, but I was sure I heard you come in.¡± She turned her head again, then stopped. ¡°I know you¡¯re there, I can hear you breathing, say something¡­ Or I¡¯ll fetch my father.¡± Ryan looked at Angeline, then at the looming structure casting a daunting shadow over him, recognizing it for the first time as Blackstone Keep, which meant, this girl, this girl was¡­


    ¡°You¡¯re Brimsley¡¯s daughter.¡± He instinctively scooted back on the ground, as if more distance would save him. Angeline sighed, put off by the statement.


    ¡°My name is Angeline.¡± She smiled warmly, reaching out a hand. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to be afraid of, I¡¯m not my father.¡± She attempted a laugh, but it came out awkward. Her cheeks blushed, and she clasped her hands together on her lap. ¡°I don¡¯t know you, but you seem nice, I don¡¯t know what it is, I think it¡¯s your smell.¡± She shrugged, biting her lip. ¡° Maybe you could stay? And we could talk?¡± This was getting a little too weird for Ryan, and it was not lost on him that every second in this place was another second risking getting skinned by the most ruthless pirate on the islands.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I can¡¯t stay. I really can¡¯t.¡± Ryan grabbed hold of the vines, and hastily climbed back up the wall. He peered down, and over the edge, relieved to see that the Blades had left, probably smart enough to know what this place was before climbing the wall. Angeline reached out her hands, her face disappointed.


    ¡°Wait, don¡¯t go. At least tell me your name.¡± Ryan did not know why, but he felt compelled to tell her, that he owed her that much, this girl he had known for 5 minutes.


    ¡°My name is Ryan.¡± He took one last look at the golden haired angel, and pulled himself up and over the wall, dropping down on the other side. Angeline sat back in her chair, rubbing her hands together on her lap, her face sullen. Then she realized that she had had a visitor, however brief. She smiled, giddy, forgetting her disappointment.


    ¡°Ryan. Ry-an. Such a funny name, isn¡¯t it? A name meant for a prince.¡±


    ¡­


    Ryan walked cautiously back into town, watching the alleys, looking cautiously over his shoulder. Blades could be anywhere, and even though he was on streets owned by the Crimson Terrors, Dunshaw and Clyde had proven themselves daring twice already. The whole of the Black Blades were growing bolder by the day, and Ryan was sure it would lead to


    bloodshed, hell, the way things were going, an all out gang war seemed more than likely. And what about Jim? The boy had goaded those Blades to violence then left him to fend for himself. He shook his head, Jim was becoming more of a pirate than himself lately, so different from the lost little kid Ryan had found on the streets, barefoot, half starved, forgotten by his father, thrown out by his mother¡­


    ¡°Hey, I was wonderin when you was gonna show up.¡± Ryan looked around at the darkening streets, seeing no one, the whole area lifeless, all the sailors, pirates, and cutthroats off at the bars, boozing, gambling, whoring. ¡°Up here.¡± Ryan looked up and saw Jim sitting on the roof of a squat, single story building with a flat top, the smiling boy swinging his legs off the side whimsically. He dropped down on the ground next to Ryan, dusting off his knees before standing straight. Jim gave him a playful shove, the boy exuding an aura of casual immaturity. Ryan wanted to be mad, but Jim was Jim, and he would not ask him to be anyone else. He punched him on the shoulder firmly.


    ¡°That¡¯s for leaving me with the Blades.¡± Jim recoiled from the punch, exaggerating the movement. He looked at Ryan in mock bewilderment.


    ¡°What? Me? I wasn¡¯t runnin. I was lookin for a¡­¡± He snapped his fingers, trying to think of the word. ¡°Tactical advantage.¡± Ryan just looked at him, eyebrows raised.


    ¡°Tactical advantage? That¡¯s what we¡¯re going with?¡± He looked up at the building Jim had jumped down from. ¡°Is that why you were hiding up there?¡± Jim smirked.


    ¡°Oy! They didn¡¯t find me, did they? And you don¡¯t look worse fo wear yoself. Able to ditch em, eh?¡± Ryan suddenly remembered the encounter with the golden haired girl with distant eyes, the angel in a garden of many colors, protected by walls of black stone. Angeline, he very much wanted to meet her again, although he was sure once was dangerous enough, what with her father and all. Jim had a mouth on him though, so it was best if he did not know, or else he would have much bigger problems than Blades. Jim looked at him expectantly, Ryan realized he had been standing there looking like a kid who had been kicked in the head by a mule. He smiled, giving Jim a light shove.


    ¡°Me? Come on, you really think those blunders could catch me?¡± He shrugged. ¡°I had those idiots lost before I even got to the docks.¡± Jim laughed, and Ryan managed a chuckle, but his mind was still stuck on the girl, meeting her, however briefly, had stirred something inside him, and he could not shake it. Jim threw his arm around him, smiling broadly.


    ¡°Come on then, let¡¯s get a drink.¡± He gestured out into the open air as if trying to show Ryan something. ¡°The night is young, and we need be celebratin our victory over the fearsome Black Blades.¡± The two started walking down the street towards the bars and pleasure houses, Jim more or less pulling Ryan along with him, not letting go of his neck. Not that Ryan was resisting much.


    ¡°Victory you say? We ran away.¡± Jim held a finger to his lips.


    ¡°Shhhh, that¡¯s not what we be tellin the girls.¡± Ryan rolled his eyes.


    ¡°And what story are we telling this time.¡± Jim grinned toothily.


    ¡°That we stood bravely in the face o half o dozen of the biggest Blades you ever saw. Oh, and that I stabbed one.¡± Ryan scoffed.


    ¡°You DID stab one, twice, if I remember right.¡± Jim slapped Ryan on the chest.


    ¡°See, yer already in on the story, tell it just like that when we get to the Mermaid¡¯s Kiss.¡±


    ¡°The Mermaid¡¯s Kiss? That¡¯s our spot tonight?¡±


    ¡°Aye, the Kiss, best girls in the city, rum¡¯s not bad either.¡± The two laughed heartily, carefree and joyful, neither one prepared for the troubled waters lurking on the horizon.

 Chapter Ten: A Boy from Before

    Chapter Ten: A Boy From Before


    Coin District, Averynce, Melcania


    Emperor Alric was in a mood less than favorable. High within the reaches of the Imperial palace, aggressively pacing the length of his chambers. Dressed in semi royal attire, black silk pants and shirt, embroidered with gold, the monarch debated just forgetting everything and taking a bath, he did not feel like going out, going out meant interacting with people. The very thought of all those simpering, bowing fools, which had once brought him deep satisfaction, now sickened him. Corvus stood by the door, dressed in his usual black, with the green sash around his waist, booklet held, as always, against his chest. He watched the emperor pace back and forth with amused interest, the Geargandian analyzing the man¡¯s manic state.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see why I have to go down there, amongst all those¡­ insufferable flatterers.¡± He stopped pacing, looking at Corvus with the look of a stubborn child hiding behind the fa?ade of Imperial authority. ¡°I am the Emperor, the most powerful man in this or any land, need I be bound to such things as social formalities?¡± Corvus, guile as ever, simply smiled, addressing him with a voice of honey and silk.


    ¡°My Emperor, these gatherings are not for your benefit.¡± Alric raised his eyebrows, waiting. Corvus gave a short bow, putting his hands out to the side. ¡°For surely you are already the wisest and noblest man in the Realm.¡± He stood back up. ¡°But, as you have already surmised, the same can not be said for everyone in this nation, it¡¯s your duty as Emperor to walk among the lesser creatures from time to time, so that they might glean something of value from your radiance.¡± Alric smiled, reminded once again of why he kept Corvus around.


    Fine, I¡¯ll make an appearance, but I¡¯m going like this, I¡¯m not putting on 30 extra pounds of royal attire to listen to the complaints of merchants and farmhands.¡± Corvus gave another bow.


    ¡°By your will, my Emperor, that is within your right. But do wear the circlet, people need to be reminded their place from time to time.¡± Alric eyed the Geargandian, never liking to be told what to do.


    ¡°As long as you remember yours.¡± He placed the circlet on his head and made his way toward the elevator, followed by Corvus and a handful of guards.


    ¡­


    Alric sat upon his throne, bored with no effort to hide it, resting his head upon his hand as he listened absently to the people before him. But it was not his throne, not really. The actual imperial throne was high above, in the palace, this one, however grand, was merely for public appearances, heavens knows you could not have riff raff scurrying about the palace. The mock throne Room was spacious, grandiose, and safely placed at ground level.


    The man kneeling before him was dressed in simple, plain attire, and he gripped a worn, wide brimmed hat against his chest. The farmer had been droning on for over 5 minutes, nearly putting the emperor to sleep. Alric groaned, sitting up.


    ¡°Can you get to whatever point you have? I have little interest in stories and elaborate hem hawing.¡± The man paused, faltering under the cold, penetrating gaze of the emperor.


    ¡°Well, you see, M¡¯lord.¡±


    ¡°Emperor.¡±


    ¡°¡­My Emperor, apologies. We had a number of Imperial soldiers come through our town south of here, they caused a lot of damage to our houses, my farm was practically trampled, and they made off with the blacksmith and his family, now I don¡¯t have anyone to make new horseshoes so I can get my fields back right.¡± Alric checked his fingernails with distracted disinterest


    ¡°I don¡¯t see how this is a concern of mine, what exactly are you asking me to do?¡± Again, the farmer faltered, not wanting to overstep.


    ¡°Well, you see, my Emperor, no horseshoes means I don¡¯t have horses to plow new seed, the town relies on my farm for almost half of the winter food stock. If you would give us some money so I can have some shipped, and maybe a little to pay for damages?¡± Alric rolled his eyes.


    ¡°Is that all? You wasted my time with these prolonged explanations when all you wanted was money?¡± Alric tossed a small black bag which landed heavily in front of the man with the sound of coins. The farmer hesitantly picked up the bag, gasping when he looked inside to see the gleam of gold. ¡°Now, leave, take your payment and leave my sight.¡± Alric waved the man away, disgruntled by the line behind him that was not getting any shorter. He eyed the next dirt stained individual, an old woman in a dirty with straw hair and unappealing features. ¡°Approach.¡± The woman came and stood in front of him.


    ¡°My Emperor, I¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s customary to kneel, do you not see where you are?¡± The woman gazed tentatively around the spacious room, briefly observing marble columns, golden ornaments, and imperial banners. She shuffled her feet timidly, not meeting his gaze.


    ¡°My knees don¡¯t work too well.¡± Alric sighed impatiently.


    ¡°Very well, continue.¡± He leaned back, resting his head on his hand again.


    ¡°My name is Margaret. I¡¯ve always been a simple woman; I¡¯ve never cared much for kings or politics.¡± She gripped the sides of her shawl. ¡°When the empire annexed our lands, I did not think much of it, nothing changed cept new taxes. But now¡­¡± She paused, stifling tears, and took a shuddering breath, trying to compose herself. ¡°They¡¯ve destroyed everything, men from your army came in force and destroyed our town, my home¡­¡± Tears spilled over her cheeks. ¡°There¡¯s nothing left.¡± Alric adjusted himself in his seat.


    ¡°The soldiers of the Imperial Army are under orders to locate people of special¡­ interest, and I trust them to make judgements as they see fit. Now if you need help relocating, I¡¯m sure there¡¯s room for another vagabond in the surrounding towns. Be gone.¡± Margaret stood there in shock, not knowing how to react to such apathy. She lowered her head.


    ¡°You¡¯re a monster.¡± She said the words quietly, but Alric was a man of sharp eyes, and even sharper ears. His indolent disinterest melted, revealing a man of wrath, a man who would not be disrespected. He lowered his gaze upon the woman, his eyes piercing her like icy spears.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Margaret stayed silent, biting her lip as she fought off more tears. Alric stood up, towering over her with imperial dominance. ¡°What. Did. You. Say?¡± She started to tremble, the water flowing freely from her eyes now.


    ¡°Nothing, my Emperor, I didn¡¯t say anything.¡± Alric looked down upon the frightened woman, prepared to deliver his rage, but then he saw her eyes. Eyes filled with resentment, with hate, eyes that caused him to waver. He looked out at the crowd, and saw the same eyes, every farmer, baker, and seamstress looking at him like he was a¡­ monster¡­ He sat back down, defeated.


    ¡°Take them away.¡± He said quietly, covering his face with his hand. The guards hesitated.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°My Emperor?¡± Alric exploded, gesturing wildly.


    ¡°Get them out of here! All of them! I command it! Do it! Do it Now!¡± The guards went out and began shoving people out of the room, ignoring cries of protest, beating back the more resistant ones with coshes. Alric sat silent, his head in his hands as he listened to the chaos.


    ¡­


    The hour was late, and the air was cool in the city of Averynce, and while the city fell further into sleep, the Tower stood tall, awake, and vigilant. High within its depths over a thousand feet up in the imperial palace, so far away from the sleeping city it was almost a world in and of itself, 2 men were in the passions of lovemaking.


    The spacious chamber glowed dimly in the light of a hundred low burning candles, their flames flickering in a low breeze that blew gently through the balcony doors, bringing with it the breaths of Winter. Neither of them noticed the chill, each man rapt with the other, becoming one in a way only found through intimacy, their bodies melding into a single being.


    The rhythmic motions, the gentle thrusts, the shuddering gasps and sighs and cries to gods echoing from every caressing touch, every lingering kiss. Black hair, long and curled, falling down from the man above, the man underneath clenching silk sheets, eyes closed, softly moaning into bedspread.


    A moment passes, the tempo increases, the song nearly over. Another kiss, another touch. And then it was finished, passion dissipating into the air like smoke, as one became two once more and the men separated, falling onto the sheets next to each other, breathing heavily.


    ¡°Third time this week, I must be doing something right.¡± Said Rorick, smiling coyly. Alric brushed his hair out of his face, taking a second to catch his breath. He frowned.


    ¡°Maybe one of these times I won¡¯t have to pay for it.¡± Rorick just laughed, tracing his finger on Alric¡¯s chest.


    ¡°It¡¯s not like you don¡¯t have the money.¡± He looked absently at the invisible circle he was drawing, silently musing. Alric brushed his hand off, sitting up in the bed.


    ¡°Yes, I know, it¡¯s just been a horrid week.¡± He sighed. ¡°I just feel as though the only reason people come around at all is because they¡¯re afraid of me, or because I pay them.¡±


    ¡°Or in my case, both.¡± Rorick chuckled, Alric gave him a tired look, but still managed a smile.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky you¡¯re cute.¡± He reached down and playfully stroked Rorick¡¯s penis, his mind heavy with the events of the day. Rorick frowned, recognizing the monarch¡¯s grief.


    ¡°Well, it can¡¯t be easy being the Emperor. Having so much land and people to worry about. And then there¡¯s all this controversy over the military seizures going on in the South.¡± He looked at Alric hesitantly. ¡°Forgive me if I overstep¡­ but why burn your own lands? What could you gain from it?¡± Alric¡¯s expression shifted, his face becoming hard.


    ¡°It¡¯s complicated, I know that our measures have been¡­ extreme.¡± He paused, staring at the flickering candles. He refocused, looking back at Rorick. ¡°but believe me when I say that what I do, I do for the good of Melcania.¡± Rorick shook his head.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand what abducting blacksmiths and farmers has to do with helping the empire.¡± Alric got off the bed and walked out to the balcony, the air was cold, but he did not mind, a true son of the Northlands.


    ¡°It¡¯s not who they are, but what they are. Melcania¡¯s power comes from our control of the Lightning Crystals, we can¡¯t have people who threaten our position.¡±


    ¡°But how do th-¡±


    ¡°Do not forget your place, I have already let my affections for you cause me to overspeak.¡± Alric could hear the soft patter of footsteps, and suddenly there were hands at his sides, moving over his stomach. The touch was warm against the chill, Alric could already feel himself relaxing.


    ¡°Sorry for all my questions.¡± Rorick breathed, kissing Alric¡¯s shoulder, his neck, moving along a line. ¡°I¡¯ve always been a curious boy.¡± The hands moved in opposite directions, one moving up, caressing his chest, the other migrating down. Alric gasped, Rorick kissed the side of his chin. He grinned. ¡°Looks like someone¡¯s ready to go again.¡± Alric released a shuddering breath, his eyes closed as he focused on the boy¡¯s touch.


    ¡°Just shut up and get back on the bed.¡±


    ¡­


    Black hair¡­ blue eyes¡­ skin like pearls¡­ a smile¡­ a kiss¡­


    Alric awoke with a start, his body sheened in sweat as he gazed frantically about the room, breathing heavily as he tried to gather himself. He was in his chambers, this was his bed, who was sleeping next to him again? Rorick, yes, Rorick. Not the boy from the dream, not the boy from before¡­ He needed a drink.


    Alric got out of bed and walked to the glass cabinet across the room, opening it to reveal a collection of wine bottles, all of exquisite taste and quality. He poured himself an appropriate amount for the circumstance, and then added a bit more. He took a long, deep drink, letting the strong Southern vintage wash away the bad memories¡­ why was he thinking about him now?


    Alric looked at Rorick, sleeping soundly on the bed. Why did this boy remind him so much of him? He took another sip, walking out to the balcony. The chill blew through him, into his bones, he welcomed it, the heat shafts always kept things too warm in the tower anyway. The miles of hollow passages painstakingly laid in to the walls and floors, designed to carry warm air from the furnaces up and through the superstructure. But he did not have time to think about architecture.


    Gazing out over the city that stretched as far as the eye could see, looking down upon the empire that was his to rule, he could not help but feel like a god, a god standing over ants that scurried so far beneath him. He took another drink, and walked back inside.


    The wine was already muddling his thoughts, precisely why he chose the strong vintage. Alric placed the empty glass down on the nightstand, getting back into bed. He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander over mundane thoughts, and fell back to sleep.


    ¡­


    Lady Polisa waited just outside the perimeter wall of the Tower Keep, next to the river that flowed under the walls and cut through the city north to south. It was as good a location as any, the babbling waters providing a sound shield.


    A guard walked lazily past, Polisa instinctively pulled her hood down further on her head. There was no reason to be paranoid, no one could tell it was her under the heavy, albeit uncomfortable, cloak, and even if they did, they had no reason to suspect her of anything. She was just uneasy, what she was doing was tantamount to treason, and she rather liked her neck the way it was¡­ Gods, where was Rorick? A dark figure came across the bridge from the Tower Keep, walking until there was less than five feet between them, and then stopping by the water. Rorick pulled his hood back, against her previous instructions, but she was not going to fuss about it now.


    ¡°Sorry I¡¯m late, Emperor¡¯s been having a restless night.¡± He said quietly. Polisa nodded absently.


    ¡°Yes, yes, quite alright. Now let¡¯s speak quickly and be gone.¡± She looked over her shoulder, feeling eyes on her. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be here any longer than I need to be.¡± Rorick looked about the seemingly empty streets, silently agreeing. He looked back at Polisa.


    ¡°Something big is going on with the Southern campaign.¡± He whispered in hushed tones. ¡°The Emperor wouldn¡¯t go into detail, but it seems like it has something to do with the people they¡¯re taking.¡± Polisa¡¯s eyes lit up, her interest piqued.


    ¡°Why? What¡¯s so special about them?¡± Rorick just shrugged, the best answer he had.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but the way he was talking it sounded like he believed the future of the empire hinged on finding them.¡± Polisa looked up at the tower, an impossibly large monolith that pierced the clouds like a giant sword. She stroked her chin, silently musing to herself. She looked at Rorick smiling.


    ¡°This is good news, good news indeed. We can definitely work with this information. Well done Rorick.¡± Rorick gave a bow.


    ¡°Pleased to be of service, my Lady.¡± Polisa gave him a harsh look.


    ¡°Oh, do stand up, formalities can wait, we mustn¡¯t allow anyone to know of your service to me.¡± Rorick stood up hastily, blushing at his error.


    ¡°Sorry, my Lady.¡± She took on a softer expression, ever grateful to have such a loyal servant, a good friend, although she would not openly admit it.


    ¡°We should part ways, will you have trouble getting back into the tower?¡± Rorick just smirked.


    ¡°I come and go so much from there, the guards don¡¯t even pay attention to me anymore, it¡¯s like I¡¯ve got a key from the Emperor himself.¡± Polisa nodded, thinking to herself.


    ¡°Good, good, then you hurry back before he wakes and suspects anything. I¡¯ll be off as well.¡± Rorick kicked a pebble into the river, then started walking back across the bridge. Polisa pulled her hood down and made her way back to her manor, making sure to take a winding path.


    High within the reaches of the Tower Keep, a man stood watching. He was too far away to hear anything, and the distance made it difficult to see clearly, not to mention the darkness. That was of little consequence, however, as he had already gathered all of the information necessary. The directions they came and went, the hour at which they met, the number of times he had seen them meet over the last month, not to mention the familiar face of the boy who left his hood down, coming into the light as he crossed the bridge¡­ The man smiled, putting the puzzle together in his mind, oh how he loved puzzles. He made a note in a small booklet, and walked back inside.

 Chapter Eleven: The Kiss

    Chapter Eleven: The Kiss


    The men had come in half past the 18<sup>th</sup> hour. They did not ask for anything, they were not looking for drink, pleasure, nor company, only violence. A single pistol shot in the air had been enough to clear most of the bar¡¯s patrons, the rest were easy enough to toss out. Then they locked the door.


    They started with the furniture, wrecking tables and chairs with axes and mallets, swords and rifle stocks, their bare hands, tossing everything out the windows, shattering glass. The booze was the next to go, the men taking shots at the bottles on the wall, the containers exploding in showers of rum and beer. With heavy blows they broke open barrels of grog and bumbo, flooding the floor with their contents.


    If only this was the extent of their depravity, if only a portion of their humanity remained, but there was no love in their hearts, no compassion. With rough hands they dragged the women from their rooms, laughing at their struggles as they kicked and screamed, spat and cursed.


    ¡°No, you brutes! Let me go, Cap¡¯n Reis will hear of this!¡± Cried a defiant woman, wrestling against a foul smelling man who held her from behind. Another man laughed, walking up to her. He grabbed her by the face, squeezing her cheeks with callous disregard.


    ¡°Of course he will.¡± He turned her face from side to side, looking over her features with unsavory intentions. She trembled, looking at him with hate filled eyes, trying to remain strong, but knowing how this was going to end.


    The men took the girls, throwing them to the ground, holding them down as they took what they wanted without payment, laughing like soulless devils. They traded places, violating the women again, and again, giving no heed to their cries, their hearts black. When they grew bored, they beat them, laying into them with vicious brutality, bludgeoning them with fists and hammers. When it was done, they dragged the half dead girls out into the street, firing shots into the air before running back to their rat holes. In the bar top, amidst all the broken glass and dripping alcohol, was a single black dagger, stuck deep into the wood


    ¡­


    Ryan and Jim stood alongside a hundred other individuals, all of them staring at the same thing. The Mermaid¡¯s Kiss, or, that is¡­ what was left of it. The house of pleasure and company, one of the Crimson Terrors¡¯ primary sources of income, had been completely ruined.


    Chairs and tables overturned and broken, thrown out of shattered windows, every keg and bottle of booze smashed, saturating the ground with the smell of rum. This is not what caused the disbelief amongst the crowd, this was not what caused their shock, kindled their rage. On the ground in front of the brothel, was every girl who worked there, bruised, beaten, violated; They were barely breathing, laid out like meat for the world to see.


    ¡°Don¡¯t just stand thar, ya bleedin sacks o filth! Someone fetch a doctor!¡± Ryan looked to see Bull Shark Jack pushing through the crowd, his face filled with murder and hate. ¡°Where are they!? Where are the cunt bastard fucks who be thinkin they can beat and rape unarmed women in our house!?¡± He looked about, eyeing each person. ¡°Our house!¡± People shuffled nervously in their feet, avoiding his gaze, some walked away, smart enough to put distance between them and the man¡¯s wrath. Jack saw Jim and Ryan in the crowd, the two standing there like a couple of gasping fish. ¡°You!¡± He barked, pointing at them. Ryan¡¯s heart dropped in his chest, Jack made him nervous even when he was in a good mood, if he had a good mood. They moved past a couple old women and a man with a peg leg.


    ¡°Yessir?¡± Said Jim, less talkative, even he knew when to shut up. Jack just looked at them with barely contained rage, still pointing at them.


    ¡°You two run to the Den, Cap¡¯n Reis needs to know bout this. Not tomorrow, not in an hour, NOW.¡± When they were still standing there, he took a step towards them. ¡°GO!¡± He bellowed. The boys ran off, practically tripping over their feet as they hurried to tell the captain, to tell the man that war was here.


    ¡­


    Captain Kreek was in a rather good mood. Leaned back in his chair, resting his legs up on his desk, drinking a Kendorian Red in a stemmed glass. Despite the hour, he was still fully dressed in captain attire, but he felt more comfortable with it on anyway. The candles flickered on the walls, lighting the room nicely, he stared into their flames, quietly sipping his wine. He glanced at the clock on his desk, half past the 21<sup>st</sup> hour, which meant any time now there would be-.


    There came a loud knock on the door, Kreek smiled. Right on schedule. He finished his wine, and set the glass on the table. ¡°Enter.¡± The door swung open and Scattershot Tom lumbered in, shoving his bulk through the entry. He stood there, breathing laboriously, if Kreek did not know him the way he did, he would have assumed the man was unhealthy. But Kreek had seen what Tom could do, and underestimating him had killed more than a few hardened men, needless to say, he was second in command for a reason.


    ¡°Sir, they¡¯ve gone and done it, I told em we needed to hold back, let things settle, but they gone and started a war.¡± Kreek just poured another glass of wine.


    ¡°You¡¯re rambling Tom, why don¡¯t you get something from the cabinet and calm yourself.¡± Tom did not need to be told twice, the man hastily walked over to the liquor, grabbing a bottle of rich man¡¯s rum. He pulled the cork out with his teeth, spitting it across the room before taking a long drink. Kreek just looked at him with amused interest, sipping his wine before setting the glass back down. ¡°Now, tell me, what is it that has you so riled up?¡± Tom wiped his mouth, still looking troubled, but at least his breathing had settled.


    ¡°It¡¯s the Mermaid¡¯s Kiss, some of our boys trashed it, not two hours ago, I told em we needed to wait, I told em, and now we¡¯re-¡± Kreek held up his hand, silencing him. He pick up his glass, staring into the wine as he gently spun it around in slow circles.


    ¡°Tell me, how have the Crimson Terrors handled such¡­ unfortunate news?¡± Tom looked at him, puzzled, he did not know how to respond. Kreek looked at him with mild impatience, stopping the glass¡¯s rotation.


    ¡°Umm, er, they¡¯re furious, Jack is demandin blood, when Reis gets word, he¡¯ll likely do the same¡­ but¡­ you already knew that, didn¡¯t you?¡± Kreek just smirked, taking another sip of his wine.


    ¡°Call it¡­ a necessary action to achieve a desired outcome.¡± He finished his wine and set the glass down, his hand hovered over the bottle, contemplating another drink, but decided against it. He reached out and plucked the cork off the desk, stopping the wine. Tom stood there, confused, but after years of working with the Melcanian, he had given up trying to figure out his motives.


    ¡°Sir, Reis won¡¯t take this lying down.¡± Kreek tossed the corked bottle at Tom, who caught it without effort. He sat back in his chair, overly content.


    ¡°I¡¯m counting on it.¡±


    ¡­


    Jim and Ryan sprinted all the way across town, not stopping until they were literally pounding on the door to the hideout, both boys frantic and out of breath. The commotion was such that, after a moment, the heavy iron door swung open, Reis himself looming in the entry, his face red and angry.


    ¡°What in the Nameless are you doin hammerin out here like o couple o drunken fools!? You¡¯ll give the whole hideout away you louts!¡± Ryan and Jim did not say anything, still trying to suck in air. Reis saw their panic and looked up and down the street, his face softening a bit. ¡°Get in here, before you draw even more attention.¡± He ushered the boys inside, closing the door tight behind them. He looked down at them, not as a friend, nor as a sympathizer, but as their captain. ¡°Tell me¡­¡± He finally spoke, his voice low. ¡°Where did they hit us?¡± Ryan and Jim looked at each other, Jim looked at Ryan with a face that told Ryan to speak. Ryan cleared his throat, his voice coming out weak under the weight of the giant¡¯s gaze. ¡°T-the K-kiss, Captain, they hit the Kiss.¡± Jim nodded furiously, adding silent testimony to Ryan¡¯s words. For a time, Reis did not speak, and Ryan and Jim shifted uncomfortably in the silence. Then Reis punched the door hard with his fist, startling the boys. The iron rang from the blow that would¡¯ve killed a man, the force causing the very walls to tremble. Reis removed his hand, blood trickling from his knuckles, but he showed no discomfort.


    ¡°War it is then.¡± He said quietly, nearly to himself. He looked at Ryan and Jim, still standing there like fools. ¡°The waters be turning for the worse here boys, we might be fighting a storm bigger we be. But if Kreek wants to fight, if all those Blade cunts want to fight¡­ WE¡¯LL GIVE IT TO THEM!!¡± Reis punched the door again, even harder than before, Ryan half expected the hinges to give way. Reis looked back at the pair, collecting himself. ¡°Run along home now, boys, I don¡¯t want to be involving ya in this anymore than I have to.¡± Ryan turned to leave, but Reis put a heavy hand on his shoulder, turning him back around. ¡°But if I call on you, you will come, and be ready to follow orders.¡± He released Ryan¡¯s shoulder, and Ryan left out the door with Jim. As the pair hurried on their way, Ryan felt for the first time, a strong sense of foreboding and regret about being in the gang.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡­


    Month of Storms, Valtroy, Kgnaska


    The carriage carried on at a sluggish pace, pulled by two hearty Kgnaskan stallions, hauling their enormous cargo with mild difficulty. The wood and iron vehicle, painted in black and gold, creaked and groaned, protesting the weight of the impossibly large man that dominated two thirds of the seating. Governor Bakker sat like a king, fanning himself under the shade of a large parasol that, remarkably, was able to cover the entirety of the happy fat man. Desmond sat across from him, baking in the open sun, silently miserable, and regretting wearing his official robes.


    It was a rare thing indeed, for the Governor to venture outside the castle, considering everything he needed was right there, food, his bed, food, his bath, food. Every once in a while, though, the man enjoyed a little ride through the city, observing the functionality of the people, as he put it, though Desmond was sure the man did not know what the word meant. He speculated that the real reason for these tawdry trips though, was that the Governor wanted to remind the people that he was in charge.


    The two rode rather casually through the cobblestone streets of the upper district, avoiding the more ruined areas on the north side, escorted by half a dozen guards on foot. Desmond looked at their black armor, suddenly grateful for his robes, Gods, how did these men stand this heat? Bakker groaned, wiping his brow with an embroidered handkerchief, shifting uncomfortably.


    ¡°Wish we would have brought some food, I say, I¡¯m feeling quite famished.¡± Desmond rolled his eyes, only half listening to the man as he observed a woman sweeping beside the street. The Governor had just eaten no more than an hour before, and people wondered why there was a food shortage in the territory. He turned his attention back to Bakker, smiling courteously.


    ¡°My Governor, if you are in need of sustenance, then perhaps we should cut our ride short and return to the castle, the day is ill suited with this heat anyhow.¡± Bakker harrumphed, continuing to fan himself, too stubborn to admit defeat to the sun, nor to his stomach, for that matter.


    ¡°Nonsense, we¡¯ve only just begun, an esteemed delegate such as myself does not let such, minor inconveniences, keep him from his duties.¡± There came another rumbling from inside him, loud enough that even some of the guards took notice. Bakker grimaced, placing a hand on his gut. ¡°Although, it is not written anywhere that we can¡¯t observe the market.¡± He looked over Desmond¡¯s shoulder at the driver, taking on a noticeably haughty tone. ¡°Driver, take us to the main market, do try to be quick about it, but don¡¯t let the ride get too jarring.¡± The man nodded, acknowledging the order, and sent the horses into a light trot, the guards unamused as they now had to jog in order to keep pace with the vehicle.


    The streets were relatively vacant, but they usually were when the Governor made his trips. Bakker was not a popular man, though his hubris would argue otherwise, and Desmond often wondered what would happen if the people rose up to take him. They rounded the corner, passing dangerously close to three men repairing the street, the startled workers scrambling out of the way of the royal carriage as they hollered and cursed.


    They passed a group of Imperial soldiers, members of Kliin¡¯s regiment, marching in a line, undoubtedly heading out of the city for some task or another. Desmond did not put much thought on such matters, if the Emperor had need of soldiers here, who was he to question? Though he considered the royal guard plenty in regards to security. The carriage came to a stop, nearly startling him, he had not noticed their arrival at the south market. One of 4 such locations in the city, the south market was by far the largest, and most popular center for trade in the city.


    All around, the sounds and sights of commerce were taking place, copper, silver, and even golden Imperios being traded back and forth, changing hands as men, women, and children purchased everything from food, to farming supplies, to furniture. Bakker gestured over at a nearby bread stand, a burly, mustachioed man pulling fresh pastries from an impressive brick oven, setting them out and proceeding to slather them with jelly glaze. The aroma was so intoxicating that Bakker was practically beside himself, looking longingly at the mouth watering morsels.


    ¡°Yes, yes, I think those will do quite nicely, quite nicely indeed.¡± Bakker wiped the excess saliva from the corners of his mouth. ¡°Desmond, go over there and get me those, those, whatever those are.¡± Desmond nodded, groaning as he climbed down to the street.


    ¡°Yes, my Governor.¡± He paused, looking at the stand, then back at Bakker. ¡°How many does his excellency wish to obtain?¡± Bakker answered without hesitation.


    ¡°All.¡± Desmond¡¯s face fell in a look of shock, but recovered quickly. He gestured to a few of the guards.


    ¡°You heard the Governor; you men go over there and ask the proprietor to donate his stand. The men¡¯s expressions were masked by their black helmets, but they complied without pause, eager to throw their weight around. Desmond stood next to the carriage, watching the guards march over to the stand. It was too far away to hear much of what was said, but there were a lot of gestures at the pastries, the stand, the carriage, the fat man in the carriage. Finally, the man hung his head in defeat and the guards began gathering the jellied treats, clearing out everything they could find. Bakker sat impatiently, fanning himself ever faster as he waited for something to shove in his mouth.


    ¡°Wow, look at the size o him.¡± Said a small voice near the carriage. Desmond looked around and saw a group of children standing a short way off, pointing, laughing, puffing out their cheeks and putting out their hands to mimic someone of considerable weight, someone who was too preoccupied to notice them, much to their fortune. Desmond silently gestured at them to stop, trying to quiet them, if only for their sakes. However, this only encouraged them, as they tried even harder to get the Governor¡¯s attention.


    ¡°All hail his Lardship!¡±


    ¡°Look! The moon¡¯s fallen down!¡±


    ¡°Hey! Someone help get that whale back in the water!¡± Bakker broke from his daze, turning to see what all the commotion was.


    ¡°Oy! It moved, run, before it eats ya!¡± The children broke out in fits of laughter, giving each other playful shoves. Bakker looked upon the youths with pompous disdain.


    ¡°Get out of here, you insolent brats.¡± He spoke haughtily and with great authority, waving them away. He went to turn back around, but a half eaten squash struck him in the head with a sickening, wet, splat, sliding down the side of his face in a sticky, gut drenched, slime trail. Bakker reeled, furious, his pallid complexion turning shades of red and violet as he turned to the children, but they seemed just as surprised as anyone else. Desmond looked around and noticed that juveniles were not the only ones eyeing them. All around, nearly every face was turned in their direction, the market that had been bustling moments before, grinding to a near halt as everyone looked upon the Governor with emotions ranging from fear, to hate, to disgust.


    The man who had thrown the squash, a dirt covered individual with tattered fisherman clothes, still stood with his hand outstretched, as if he could not believe he actually hit his target. Bakker pointed violently at the man, putting the full weight of his position upon him as he screamed to the guards.


    ¡°TAKE HIM! I WANT THAT MAN ARRESTED!¡± The guards dropped the pastries, Bakker¡¯s appetite clouded by rage, and started moving on the delinquent, pulling out coshes. Several people stepped up next to the man, standing defiantly against the Governor¡¯s goons, causing the black armored thugs to hesitate. Desmond looked at the sea of faces, angry, bitter faces, and was suddenly afraid, a handful of guards, imperial or no, would not hold against a horde. Bakker was too angry, and far too arrogant, to notice the disparity in their situation.


    ¡°What are you waiting for!? I said arrest that man!¡± The guards moved forward, but even more people stepped up, blocking their path, pushing them back, spitting and cursing, a few people threw stones, striking the Melcanians¡¯ armor with loud clangs.


    ¡°Go back to Melcania!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re no ruler!¡±


    ¡°Fat swine! You¡¯re starving us!¡±


    They began throwing stones at Bakker, the situation quickly unraveling as the guards began striking back, shattering jaws and fracturing skulls as they tried to beat back the throng. The fat lard man sputtered, never having seen such blatant defiance, still blindly confident in the small number of men they had to protect him.


    ¡°Shut this market down! Shut it down I say! I command it by the Emperor¡¯s authority! No more business here, now, or EVER!¡± Desmond jumped into the carriage, leaning over to the driver.


    ¡°Go! Get us back to the castle, we have to protect the Governor.¡± The driver whipped the horses, sending them into a gallop, tearing over the cobblestones. As they rode, a good number of guards ran past, and even a few soldiers, heading to disperse the mob. Desmond looked back and saw that the men they had had with them had already been overwhelmed, lying on the ground, bashed in with stones and other bludgeons, their blood flowing and staining the jellied treats that had been left upon the ground. He cringed from the awful sight, surely it could not get worse than this?


    ¡­


    One would think that any rational man would have taken time to calm himself, to realize the greater good and actualize it, rather than feed his own petty self interests¡­ Bakker¡­ well, let us just say he was not a rational man.


    Less than seven days after the dreadful events had transpired in the south market, Governor Bakker ordered the immediate cease of operation and business within the area, shutting down the largest center of commerce in the city. When people tried to resist, the imperial guards were sent in force, fortified by soldiers from General Kliin, armed with flint rifles. Those who did not back down were shot without quarter; Thankfully, most people chose life over any sense of justice they might have had when faced with guns.


    Many vendors lost everything, as their stands were overturned, and their inventory confiscated or downright destroyed. With no money, they were forced to live in the slums of the Lower District, or to flee to the vagrant camps set up outside the city walls.


    All the while, Bakker lorded over the people inside the confines of the castle¡¯s security, stuffing his face like a filthy pig as he laughed and carried on, blind to the wants of the people, ignorant to their needs, deafened to their cries and protests, for what could they do to him? He was their Governor, ruler over all of the Kgnaskan Territory, anointed by Emperor Alric himself in the light of the gods. With no one else to stand behind, no other option but the Empire¡¯s rule, the people would bow, as they always did, if not for love of their sovereigns, then out of fear of them.

 Chapter Twelve: Powder, Fire, and Balls of Caste Iron

    Chapter Twelve: Powder, Fire, and Balls of Caste Iron


    The Devil¡¯s Delight, Britva, Mirratroy


    The drinking was plenty, and the music was merry, the sound of fiddles, accordions, and tin whistles filling the air with song and shanty. Men played cards at packed tables, laughing, smoking their pipes, drinking their booze, all the while tapping their feet to the tune. Girls giggled, wandering topless amongst the tables, sitting on men¡¯s laps as drunken hands slid Sirens into their cleavage. A young man with brown hair and chiseled features laid his cards out on the table.


    ¡°Three Krakens over two Galleons.¡± He grinned, pulling the pile of loot towards him as men at the table cursed, throwing down worthless hands. The girls left whatever broke louts they were with, immediately drawn to the newfound wealth.


    ¡°Mmmm, what¡¯s your name there, sailor?¡± Said a busty woman with the tan skin of the sand nations, her long brown hair flowing like chocolate satin. The man grinned, leaning back.


    ¡°The name¡¯s Conner, or you can just call me the guy with the Brits.¡± He laughed, the girls laughed too, the sweet, tender laughter of pleasure house women.


    ¡°Well, my name is Polly, and I can certainly take good care of you.¡± She rubbed her hand on the inside of his thigh. Conner laughed yet again, not believing his luck.


    ¡°This is unreal, first free booze, then the best damn game of cards I ever played, now I got me a fine woman to love me.¡± Polly looked at him, confused.


    ¡°Free booze? What are you talking about?¡± Conner returned the look, his brow furrowed.


    ¡°I was under the impression that Black Blades got free drinks today?¡± Polly shook her head, trying hard not to snigger at her meal ticket. She looked back at him, tickled.


    ¡°Who on Divisia told you that nonsense?¡± Conner gestured at the door.


    ¡°The man outsi-¡± The air was torn asunder by a deafening explosion, as barrels of powder ignited under the floorboards, ripping through the brothel with terrifying lethality. Men and women were blown through the windows in pieces, landing in smoking, lifeless heaps, gut strewn piles of red that could not be recognized. The music that had brought so much merriment was gone, replaced with the silence of death. The Devil¡¯s Delight sat, broken, ruined, her insides gutted.


    A man stood watching from across the street. He stood there, even as others timidly approached the scene, eyeing the pub with his one good eye, making sure no survivors made it outside. He grunted, scratching the kraken tattoo on his neck. After a good minute, he was satisfied that death was all that remained.


    Jack walked up to the front entrance of the brothel, ignoring onlookers that warned him to be careful. Spineless Children. He reached into his pocket and took out a small red creature with tentacles, the thing fumbling weakly in his grip. Krakens were fearsome beasts, capable of capsizing even the largest of vessels out on the water, but the babies were harmless, perfect for sending a message. With that in mind, Jack shoved the thing against the wall, nailing it to the wood with a large dagger. The creature struggled, but then died, hanging limp. Jack looked at it without pity or remorse, then walked away.


    ¡­


    The smoke rose into the sky as the building burned with all the rage of a blazing inferno. Reis watched as the Siren¡¯s Call was reduced to little more than kindling, standing close enough he could feel the flames nip at him with ravenous intent, eager to spread. Fortunately, the brothel lied on the outskirts of town, which meant less unnecessary damage, but truth be told, Reis would not have cared either way, the Blades wanted a fight, and he would give it to them.


    A figure approached off from the side, two men that were with Reis turned with flint pistols, but Reis did not remove his gaze from the fire. Jack came into the light and the men immediately lowered their guns. He came and stood next to Reis. For a long while, they just stared into the flames, two hard men, looking upon the death wrought by their hands. Surprisingly, Jack was first to break the silence.


    ¡°What¡¯d you use to get it to go up like that?¡± Reis scowled, but did not turn to look at him.


    ¡°Doused the place in whale oil, shit burns like hell.¡± Jack grunted, not needing to ask further. The two stood in silence once more, but eventually Reis spoke up. ¡°What of the other pub? You took care o that, I take it? Otherwise you wouldn¡¯t be here.¡± Jack grunted.


    ¡°Aye, I took care of it, made it good and loud, just like you asked.¡± He spat on the ground. ¡°Five barrels o powder, the Nameless himself couldn¡¯t have wrought more destruction on that place.¡± Reis nodded, his face grim, he did not like taking innocent life. Not the Blade bastards, mind you, those dogs deserved this and worse, but the girls, the music players, the hapless sailors who knew nothing of their war. Still, Blades had struck first, and a message had to be sent, that the Terrors were not to be fucked with, that they were worthy of the krakens inked into their skin.


    Finally, Reis moved away from the fire, the heat starting to get at him. He stepped back, groaning as he lowered himself onto a crate of leftover whale oil. He felt tired, he was not an old man, but he was approaching his mid seventies, and he did not feel as spry as he once did. This job, which at times made him feel alive, more often than not, it was draining.


    ¡°War¡­¡± He said, almost to himself. ¡°I knew one was comin eventually. I just wish we be in a better position.¡± Jack retrieved a silver flask, imprinted with a kraken, from inside his vest, handing it to Reis. Reis took a long drink, handing it back to Jack, who finished the contents and then put away the flask. Reis looked at Jack, surprisingly at eye level despite sitting down. ¡°Why¡¯d this be havin to happen now? We were so close to pullin off that job in Lithia. The crystals-¡± Jack put a hand on Reis, probably one of the only people who could get away with it, and gave him a look.


    ¡°There¡¯s rats on every ship, Cap¡¯n.¡± He looked over his shoulder at the men standing off to the side, fiddling with their guns and cleaning their fingernails with their knives. Reis removed Jack¡¯s hand, standing back up.


    ¡°Aye, you be right. Perhaps it be for the best we just forget the job; we need to keep our strength gathered here til this blows over.¡± He turned his gaze back to the burning building, little more than a burned out husk at this point, most of the flames died down. That¡¯s if be still alive when this is over.


    ¡­


    Captain Kreek walked briskly and with purpose, Tom lumbering at his side. They were in the part of town most smart people avoided. The buildings here were dirty and damaged, with shattered, boarded up windows and walls that were vandalized with paint and knives, depicting the symbols of various gangs.


    ¡°Are the men in place?¡± Asked Kreek. Tom huffed, walking a little too fast for his liking.


    ¡°Aye cap¡¯n, two dozen or so, just waiting for the signal. Paid off the constables, just like you asked.¡± Kreek smiled, though it could not be seen the black of night. The man was almost giddy with excitement, and Tom found that people usually wound up burned in their beds when that happened. ¡°You still haven¡¯t told me as to what we¡¯re doin.¡± Kreek stopped, halting Tom with his hand. Tom looked around, but he never could see too well in the dark; just some rundown buildings, one of them was burned out on the second floor it seemed.


    ¡°Tell me, Tom.¡± He paused, his exhilaration palpable. ¡°Are the cannons in position?¡± Tom smiled a wicked smile.


    ¡°Aye cap¡¯n.¡±


    ¡­


    The Kraken¡¯s Den was dark, as to avoid detection on the outside, with the exception of a single candle sitting in the middle of a small table. Four men sat around the glowing light, seated on boxes of rum and barrels of salted pork, swapping stories and laughing as they drank from the stock against orders. They were proper drunk, and their swords and pistols hung on the wall like so much decoration, no one expecting anything except more booze.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Guard duty was a laughable job in the gang, and, rightly so, no one took it seriously, using it as an excuse to spend the night drinking and gambling with shipmates. The Den had been around for more than 50 years, and not once had it ever been attacked, maybe the occasional lost drunk fumbling at the door. The men carried on, spilling rum, laughing at the same repeated stories. Weiss was in the middle of a particularly entertaining tale.


    ¡°So I says to em, so I says to em, ¡°I dunno, constable, that donkey was in the tree when I got here.¡±¡± The other men laughed, slapping the table repeatedly with their hands. Kevin finished his bottle and stood up on shaky feet, Weiss, Benioff, and Reelins, looking at him expectantly.


    ¡°That ain¡¯t noffin, I gots a story for you lot.¡± He paused, belching, and took a swig from the empty bottle, disappointed when he turned it upside down, confirming the lack of rum. His eyes lit up, however, when Reelins handed him a fresh one. Kevin fumbled with the cork and then took a long drink. ¡°Thanks mate, now... where was I? Oh, yeah. So there was these three sailors and-¡± The sound of cannon fire interrupted him, the men looked at each other, confused.


    ¡°That sounds awful close, don¡¯t it?¡± Asked Benioff. Kevin waved his hand dismissively.


    ¡°Ah, stop being such a woman, probably just drunk deckhands having a bit o fun.¡± The explosive sounds of cannonballs impacting stone and wood, sounded just outside, probably from the building next to them. Benioff jumped up, startled.


    ¡°I knew it! Someone¡¯s firin at us!¡± The men all got up as fast as their boozed condition would allow, grabbing weapons off the wall. ¡°What do we do!? There¡¯s only four of us!¡± Weiss already had one flint rifle loaded and was working on another.


    ¡°We do what we can, we defend the Den.¡± He handed Benioff one of the rifles, but did not release his grip on it. ¡°And we don¡¯t run.¡± He let go of the gun and followed the others to the East facing wall, where the cannon fire was coming from. Weiss moved a slat over a rifle hole and looked outside, just in time to see the cannonball impact his face.


    The 40 pound ball of cast iron tore through the reinforced wall of wood and stone with devastating force, plowing through everything in its way until it came to a stop, lodged in the west wall of the Den. Benioff groaned, coughing up dust, the blast had thrown him onto his back. He looked up, frantically patting himself, and heaved a sigh of relief, almost giddy, that he was still in one piece. The others had not been so lucky. Benioff looked about the room and saw the carnage that had been wrought. There was nothing of Weiss left, only a red stain on the floor. Kevin lied dead, a sharp splinter of wood sticking out on either side of his head. And Reelins¡­ well, his legs were in the room, but Benioff could not see where the rest of him was.


    Another shot struck the building, shaking it to its foundation. A few more sounded, one of them skimming the roof, another taking out the second floor, and then all was silent. There was no time given to breathe, however, as the sound of people approaching could be heard in the stillness, laughing individuals who took humor in the chaos. Benioff could tell they were not friendly, and quickly closed his eyes, lying still on the floor as he loosely held onto the rifle that was still in his grip. They came in through the ragged hole in the wall, over a dozen cackling devils, sifting through the rubble. Benioff risked a peek at the attackers, nearly gasping when saw the black daggers in their hands and on their hips.


    ¡°Boy, rotten luck for this lot.¡± Said a woman with red hair, her voice thick with a Bellemirran accent. She carried a wicked blade, one which curved back and forth in sharp jags. ¡°Took a straight hit from the powder ball. Ah, well, less to worry bout.¡± A large man with a torn black coat and a scarlet bandana over his left eye, came pushing past carrying a flint pistol.


    ¡°Hurry and get that door open, captain¡¯s waitin.¡± They moved to the front entrance, which was now visible from the room due to cannonballs¡¯ destruction. The sturdy iron door was remarkably still standing firm, undaunted even as the walls around it laid low in defeat. Two blades, an older man with a graying beard, and a fat man with a peg leg, moved to the door, unlatching the locks, and pulling it open.


    A scar faced man larger than anyone Benioff had seen, except maybe Reis of course, pushed himself through the entry. The brute carried a massive blunderbuss in his hands, tantamount to a cannon, the thing looked like it belonged on a ship. But Benioff¡¯s attention fell from the colossal juggernaut, when a much shorter, much better dressed man entered the doorway. He did not look like much, a pale man with short hair blacker than a raven¡¯s wing, but the air seemed colder just looking at him, as if he carried the chill of the mountains with him. Everyone moved aside for the man, everyone bowed to him, and Mirratroyans did not bow to shit.


    ¡°Well, don¡¯t just stand there, take as much loot as you can carry, then torch this place and everything in it.¡± He looked at the mangled bodies on the floor with mild amusement. ¡°We don¡¯t have much time before the Terrors catch wind of this, I don¡¯t want a Brit, nor sack of powder, nor bottle of rum to be left for them when they get here.¡± The Blades moved, hacking open boxes, stuffing their pockets with Brits and other valuables, turning over crates of rum, letting the booze spill onto the floor.


    ¡°OY! THIS BLOKE¡¯S STILL ALIVE!¡± The Bellemirran woman kicked Benioff¡¯s foot, he tried his best to remain limp, but then a knife struck him in the shoulder, thrown by the man who brought the mountain¡¯s chill. He cried out in pain looking down to see the Kendorian blade sticking out of his flesh. The man walked up to Benioff, observing him with legitimate interest.


    ¡°Hmm, a survivor, well this is fortunate. Tell me, boy, do you know who I am?¡± Benioff shook his head no. The man seemed momentarily irked, but then composed himself. ¡°I am Captain Bartholomew Kreek, the leader of the Black Blades, and the destroyer of the Crimson Terrors.¡± Benioff tried to swing his rifle for a shot, but Kreek kicked the thing out of his hands. He leaned down and pulled the dagger from Benioff¡¯s shoulder, Benioff screaming from the action, and proceeded to hold the thing up to the bleeding man¡¯s face. ¡°Do not try me, the only reason you¡¯re alive is luck, and because I currently have no interest in your death.¡± He looked at the big man with the blunderbuss. ¡°Take him with us, Tom, he might prove useful.¡± Tom lumbered over, stowing his gun on his back.


    ¡°Aye cap¡¯n.¡± Benioff pushed himself back against the wall, as if he could somehow get away.


    ¡°Wait, no, do-¡± Tom punched him in the face, silencing him.


    ¡°Shut up.¡± He threw the little man over his shoulder. Kreek looked at Tom, smirking, he always enjoyed the man efficiency. He looked at the others, tearing apart what was left of the hideout, stuffing their pockets with anything remotely valuable. A few of them had broken their way into the back room, glutting themselves on the wealth found within. Kreek pulled out a pocket watch, an ornate thing of gold and silver, and checked the hour.


    ¡°Hurry it up, lads, we don¡¯t have much time.¡± He flipped the watch shut. ¡°Finish up here and then burn it.¡± Kreek looked at Tom or, more specifically, at the unconscious man on his shoulder. ¡°I think we¡¯re done here, Tom, there¡¯s no need for you and me to remain.¡± He began moving to the door, Tom following behind. ¡°Let¡¯s take leave to the safehouse, I have a few questions for this one.¡±


    ¡­


    Ryan could not even believe what he was seeing. He had run all the way across town the second he had heard what happened, but all of his wildest fantasies and nightmares could not prepare him for this. The Den¡­ the Kraken¡¯s Den¡­ it¡­ it was gone. He approached the desolate, smoking remains of the place that had, for years, been a second home to him. The walls had been brought down, riddled by cannon fire, balls of round shot lying amidst the rubble of a ruined street. Jim, however, seemed most distraught. He walked past Ryan like a dead man, lost to the world. He reached a hand out tentatively, brushing his fingers on the rough stone where the crimson kraken remained untarnished, defiant in the Den¡¯s destruction, a brightly painted symbol of the gang¡¯s tenacity.


    Ryan walked up, and placed a hand on the boy¡¯s shoulder. For a time they just stood there, 2 friends, silent witnesses of Kreek¡¯s brutality, the cruelty of the Black Blades. Jim inhaled a shuddering breath.


    ¡°It¡¯s gone¡­ it¡¯s all gone¡­¡± Ryan patted him on the shoulder, not sure what else to do in the situation.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be alright, Jim, Reis will know what to do.¡± But even as he said the words, the giant brushed past the boys, his face solemn and vacant as the big man came upon the ruined building, the home of the Crimson Terrors. Reis stood there staring blankly at the smoldering, ravaged heap of stone and wood, with not so much as a musket ball left for them within its charred remains. Reis fell to his knees, kneeling upon the ash covered ground, his hands gripping the embers, crushing them into powder, letting the soot pour through his fingers. It was all that was left, all that was left of his home. No tears fell, but Ryan could tell the man was broken. He knelt there quietly for a long time, letting the wind blow over him, everyone watching him, waiting for his guidance. The men respected him too much to rush him, regardless of their own concerns, giving him time to grieve in his own way. Finally, the man got up, standing to his full height, turning to the men and women gathered around him, like sheep to a shepherd. All pain and sorrow had left him, as he stood taller than he ever had before, a true captain.


    ¡°Tonight the Blades be celebratin in their dens n in their secret places, drinkin rum n bumbo.¡± Reis pointed at the crumbled base. ¡°They look at the smoke, at the ruined walls of our home, and they think us beat!¡± Reis spat on the ground, disgusted by the thought. ¡°Tell me men! Are we beat!?¡± A loud cry rang out from the gang, the sailors and cutthroats hollering in defiance, for there was strength in unity, power in brotherhood, as over 40 men stood together as one. Reis looked over the crowd, at the faces of the brothers and sisters of his gang. ¡°What are we!?¡± The men cried back.


    ¡°CRIMSON TERRORS!!¡± Reis nodded his head, his face hard, scowled.


    ¡°And who shouldn¡¯t have fucked with us!?¡± Again, the men resounded.


    ¡°BLACK BLADES!!¡± Reis stamped his foot, grinding all uncertainties into the dirt and ash.


    ¡°That¡¯s right! This is not defeat! This is fuel for our victory! We are men of the salt! With the strength of the Nameless! WE FIGHT!!¡± The men cried out, the chanting war cry of sailors and pirates, the words of their captain filling their hearts with courage. It was good for morale, but Ryan knew better, looking at Reis, at the Giant of Britva, he could tell that buried beneath his energy and strength, was fear

 Chapter Thirteen: Alone in the Dark

    Chapter Thirteen: Alone in the Dark


    Imperial Railway, 173 miles west of Pridnah, Melcania


    The train lumbered lazily over the tracks, like some great, immeasurable beast, vast, and seemingly unstoppable. It travelled at a moderate, yet determined pace, its speed reduced for the moonless night that made their lanterns useless, the darkness swallowing their light like some gaping, ravenous maw. Even the smoke and steam coming from the engine seemed to disappear, becoming one with the black that the train was running blindly into.


    Alongside the large vehicle were a number of lightning powered troop transports, as well as several dozen mounted soldiers, Imperials in black armor, riding atop equally black horses, doing their best not to run into each other in the limited visibility. Nearly 200 men, assigned to escort the train as it travelled down the desolate track. The closest towns were hundreds of miles in either direction, they were alone in the dark, and everyone was uneasy, feeling eyes on them where they could not see.


    In the engine cabin the motorman kept his eyes focused on what track he could see, watching for obstructions and other hazards. The results would be catastrophic if the train struck something hard enough to send it off the rails. He stifled a yawn, taking a swig of the good stuff from his flask, trying to keep alert in the long, arduous journey of crossing the empire from west to east. The night that made the soldiers nervous really just made him tired, he had been operating trains for years, and he knew that worst thing to fear in the dark was usually a blocked track, but that happened few and far between. The motorman took another swig from his flask, pausing as he thought he saw a glimmer in the distance. The man leaned out of the cabin window, squinting, trying to make out what he was seeing.


    ¡°What in the hell? It almost looks like¡­ OH SHIT!!¡± He ran to the controls, heaving the brake back as far as it would go, sparks flying off the wheels as the great, lumbering beast groaned and screamed, struggling, grinding to a halt in an effort that would surely damage the engine. Transports and mounted soldiers came to a stop, the enormous engine belching steam from the exhaustive and abrupt action it had been forced to take. Some of the soldiers dismounted, coming down from their horses to see what had caused the delay. The motorman was already out of the cabin, standing at the head of the train, scratching his head in bewilderment. In front of the train, stuck into the ground with wooden stakes, were several lines of scarecrows, holding hands tied together with twine, mirrored glass hanging around each of their necks. From a distance it looked like a crowd of people waiting patiently to be run over.


    ¡°What is this? Some kind of joke?¡± His pondering was cut short by the sound of the ambush¡­


    Shots rang out in the darkness, catching the Melcanians on both sides, the lights on the train and their transports putting them at a horrible disadvantage, as they were forced to fight in a spotlight against an enemy that could not be seen. After a moment of confusion, they rallied behind their vehicles, trying to form a defensive line, but without visibility all it did was prologue the inevitable as they were picked off one by one. A few of the imperials reentered their transports, arming the light cannons within armored security, firing blindly into the dark. The explosive shells struck the shadows with frightening force, lighting up the night in bright flashes of fire and the deafening roar of thunder.


    The salvo continued, hammering an enemy that could not be seen, punishing a blackness that seemed almost mockingly resilient. Minutes passed, and the last cannon on the last transport fired the last shot, the guns going silent¡­ there was no more ammo to fire. The air became hauntingly still as every man stood, rifles ready, waiting in uncomfortable silence, waiting to see what demons had survived the hell storm, what monsters that would come for them in the black. Moments passed like hours, and suddenly the silence was broken, as the shadows moved all at once, a swarm of blackened shapes overrunning the escort from both sides. Terrified soldiers fired their guns into the horde, but were quickly swept aside with fluid precision. What Melcanians that were not slaughtered, threw down their guns and ran into the wilderness, abandoning the train altogether. They were not pursued, for their attackers had what they wanted.


    When the area was cleared of soldiers and secured, the cloaked individuals locked the motorman in the engine cabin, detaching it from the rest of the train and sending it on its way to Pridnah. Then they proceeded to break and shoot the locks off of each car, revealing dozens of people, stashed alongside crates of mountain berries and other typical exports. When they saw the blackened individuals, they recoiled, afraid that it might be more of the empire¡¯s cruelty. One of the men took off his mask, showing his face to them, a young man with green eyes and fiery hair, Bellemirran, not Melcanian.


    ¡°You¡¯re safe now, but we have to hurry. Come, follow me, we will get you out of here.¡± And with that, the crowd that had been hesitant, sprung to life, the idea of freedom filling them with energy. They jumped from the train, following their new protectors, and escaped into the night fallen wilderness.


    ¡­


    Coin District, Averynce, Melcania


    High within the Tower Keep, built adjacent to the palace, was the Emperor¡¯s private sky gardens. A spacious room made entirely of thick glass and iron framing, extended out over the vast emptiness, giving one full view of the city below. Contained within was a vast and beautiful variety of Northern flowers, blue, red, purple, and white, some in exquisite pots, some in extravagant table planters.


    ¡°They¡¯re beautiful.¡± Breathed Rorick, as he walked down one of the several rows of flowers, his fingers brushing against their leaves. Alric stood, quietly observing him from the entry. He allowed his lips to lift in a half smile, content to see Rorick enjoying himself.


    ¡°I¡¯m pleased you like them. I don¡¯t come in here as often as I¡¯d like anymore.¡± He paused, eyes distant for a moment, before looking back at Rorick. ¡°I spent many days here in my youth though.¡± He came down the short steps, and began walking down the center aisle. ¡°I always loved the early hours, when the sun would rise, and bring life to this sleeping city.¡± He gestured out at the horizon. ¡°The whole skyline would burst with color, orange, red, gold.¡± Rorick stopped at a flower of red and purple, golden filaments popping from their centers.


    ¡°Must be busy being the emperor.¡± He said absently, hands going over the flower. ¡°To not have time for a place like this.¡± Alric frowned, his hand falling back down to his side. It was true, he knew it. Alric found that moments like these, where he could just spend an afternoon in a garden, with a boy, were too few for his liking, his time constantly demanded by meetings, social gatherings, public appearances. He looked back at Rorick, his smile returning.


    ¡°Here, I have something I think you might enjoy.¡± Rorick looked up.


    ¡°Oh? And what is that?¡± He asked coyly, hiding playfully behind the plant. Alric gestured softly with his hand.


    ¡°Follow me over here.¡± Rorick promptly complied, stepping around and following Alric to a large ornate cabinet of black stained wood and golden decoration in the center aisle towards the back half of the room. Rorick looked at the cabinet with piqued curiosity, his face pondering what could possibly be inside. Alric smirked, satisfied with the reaction, and drew a key from his vest, inserting it into a golden lock on the front of the of the regal cupboard. He pulled open the doors, and Rorick was confused when all that was inside were three identical flowers, each in their own golden pot, evenly spaced apart. Alric looked at the flowers with no shortage of pride, their deep blue and purple petals speckled with white, the leaves themselves being a dark blue, almost black. Rorick thought the flowers were beautiful, but could not tell why they needed to be locked up. Finally, Alric spoke.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°You see these Rorick? These are Northern Glacies.¡± Rorick looked back at the flowers with newfound awe, almost feeling compelled to take a step back from the precious plants. These flowers were so rare, so valuable, most nobles couldn¡¯t afford the luxury, let alone provide proper environment and maintenance. Even Lady Polisa¡¯s flower collection did not hold a Glacies, and yet Alric had 3, yet another statement of his power and wealth. ¡°As I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware, Northern Glacies are rare, fragile, and only grow in the coldest reaches of the northern mountains of Tor and Melcania.¡± He reached a hand out, as if to touch one of the delicate leaves, but stopped just short. ¡°These things can¡¯t even be in direct sunlight, nor be touched by the warmth of human hands, or they will die. A true Northern flower, one that hates the Southern heat almost as much as I do.¡± He looked at Rorick. ¡°That is why I keep them in the darkness of this case.¡± Rorick turned his gaze away from the beautiful flowers, looking at Alric with true puzzlement.


    ¡°But, if they cannot be enjoyed outside of this case, why are they so sought after?¡± He gestured to the room full of vegetation. ¡°Surely a flower you can hold and keep outside would be more desirable.¡± To this, Alric merely frowned, taking on a more serious tone, a tone Rorick found, that the emperor used for teaching moments.


    ¡°Sometimes in life, it is the things that we cannot enjoy regularly, the things which must be savored sparingly, that bring us the most joy.¡± He closed the cabinet doors with one fluid motion. ¡°Patience, patience is the most valuable, and perhaps most underappreciated trait of any man or ruler.¡± He inserted the key, clicking the lock shut. He sighed, taking on a softer tone. ¡°But you are right, in your own way.¡± He looked at Rorick, eyes of ice meeting eyes of Topaz. ¡°Sometimes we want something that is more accessible.¡± His face took on a thoughtful complexion. ¡°Something we can enjoy more often.¡±


    ¡°Ahem.¡± Alric and Rorick looked over at the doors simultaneously, Corvus standing there, his hands folded behind his back. ¡°Excuse me for the intrusion, your grace, but there is an important matter in which I wished to discuss with you.¡± Alric nodded absently, still thinking on other things.


    ¡°Very well.¡± He looked at Rorick. ¡°I trust you will be fine here for the time being?¡± Rorick smiled, leaning in, kissing Alric lightly on the lips before pulling back.


    ¡°Yes, you go take care of business.¡± Alric frowned, unsure how to feel about the surprise show of affection. As a ruler, he wanted to be firm, strong, as immoveable in his will as the very Tower itself, yet the sight of Rorick¡¯s smile was enough to weaken him, the touch of his lips enough to muddle his thoughts, but even still, he wanted his touch more than anything.


    ¡°My Emperor?¡± Alric looked up to see Corvus still waiting by the door.


    ¡°Yes, yes.¡± He walked down the length of the aisle, and up the steps to the door. ¡°This is something that can be discussed in the hall, I hope?¡± Corvus gave short, respectful bow, putting his arms out to the side.


    ¡°Yes, my Emperor, you have my assurances that this will not take but a moment of your esteemed time.¡± He stood back up, folding his hands behind his back again. Corvus turned to the door, opening it with an unnecessary flourish, allowing Alric to exit first. The peculiar man glanced back at Rorick with his customary smirk, equally amused and analytical, then pulled the door shut behind him.


    Rorick looked around the transparent room of flowers, down at the streets below and people that went about their day, seeming as ants from this height. He turned his attention to the door, and suddenly remembered the task he had been given by Lady Polisa. Alone in an empty room of glass, with the Emperor and his advisor discussing what could only be privy and important matters, right outside the door. He could not ask for a better opportunity. Rorick took a deep breath, trying to soothe his anxiety, and began moving furtively to the door.


    It seemed to take forever, time moving sluggishly, but Rorick finally made it to the end of the room. The door must have been thick and tightly sealed though, because all he could hear were muffled sounds, nothing coherent or clear penetrating the dark wood. Rorick was not about to give up that easy though. Polisa was his Master, his noble to serve, maybe even his friend, if she had time to consider such things. He pressed his ear to the door, transforming the muffled jibberings into actual words.


    ¡°What do you mean gone?¡±


    ¡°Exactly what the word implies, gone.¡±


    ¡°Do not patronize me, Corvus, what happened?¡± There was a notable pause, Rorick adjusted himself to make sure he was hearing correctly.


    ¡°The last shipment was hit; reports indicate southern rebels. The Crystal Borne that were to be sent over to Gearstinn escaped with them.¡± Something struck the door, startling Rorick, causing him to recoil back momentarily.


    ¡°Why am I surrounded by failure and incompetence!? I give you a simple task, transport the test subjects across the Trade Waters, and yet you fail me!¡± Rorick could hardly believe what he was overhearing, and having a harder time understanding what it meant. There was a pause, and then Corvus spoke again, disturbingly calm under the circumstance. Rorick did not like the man, the Geargandian reminded him of a snake, lurking in the grass.


    ¡°Your grace, my logistics are only as efficient as the men and resources I am granted. These Imperial soldiers, as highly regarded as they may be, are crude, blunt, and devoid of adaptability or independent thought.¡± He chuckled, amused by his next thought. ¡°All the rebels had to do was strike the convoy under the cover of darkness, caught our forces ill prepared¡­ laughable.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not laughing.¡±


    ¡°Forgive me, my Emperor, I forget myself.¡±


    ¡°What resources do you require to fix these¡­ shortcomings?


    ¡°Well, if you would permit me, I¡¯d like to hire mercenaries to reinforce our escorts.¡±


    ¡°Mercenaries? You think gold loyal thugs will do better than Imperial soldiers?¡±


    ¡°This one, yes.¡± There was a long pause, so long, Rorick almost thought they had moved down the hall.


    ¡°One man?¡±


    ¡°One man.¡±


    ¡°How will one man be of any use to the escorts?¡± Another pause, Rorick could picture the Geargandian¡¯s trademark grin.


    ¡°He¡¯s also a Crystal Borne, my initial evaluation finds him to be¡­ most effective.


    ¡°He has no qualms turning against his own kind?¡± Corvus merely chortled.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never met an individual with a heart as tainted as this man. He cares not for nation, race, nor allegiance, only the clinking of gold and the shedding of blood.¡±


    ¡°What is his name?¡± Rorick adjusted his footing, forgetting about the steps, nearly falling over as he fumbled to regain his balance. He then noticed that they had stopped talking, of course, surely, they had heard him. He quickly made his way over to a flowerpot halfway across the room, trying to control his breathing. The door did not open, as he was sure it would, but he did not dare approach it again, knowing better than to risk his neck a second time.


    By the time the door opened again, Rorick had composed himself, standing at the far wall, watching the sun sink closer to blissful sleep, eager to usher in the coming night. Alric appeared at his side, his face filled with the weight of the crown. He watched the skyline with distracted disinterest, standing in silence. Rorick looked over at him, smiling warmly.


    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful, isn¡¯t it?¡± Their eyes met, and Alric¡¯s expression softened. He looked out at the sun, watching it set fire to an infinite horizon as it fell beneath the mountain peaks. For the first time in years, he truly appreciated the sunset, a single tear falling down his icy cheek.


    ¡°Yes, yes it is.¡± Alric suddenly understood what it was that he wanted, what he would give anything to have. Without another pause, he wrapped his arms around Rorick, holding him from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. There were no words, no actions, simply two people, separate from the world, watching the sky burn in an unimaginable radiance of colors, orange and red and yellow, warm and beautiful, and then fade into twilight, purple and almost sad, like the final breath of a dying man. before sinking into the darkness of the night, deep, unknowable, filled with a sense of mystery, a longing for the light of a new day. Rorick looked at Alric, still holding him gently, eyes filled with want. Alric turned, kissing the boy softly, lovingly, surrounded by flowers and walls of glass in a world gone black. Alric pulled back, Rorick pressed forward, not wanting the moment to stop, his face flushed as his breathing came heavily. Alric looked at the boy, still barely a man, his heart filled with feelings he only allowed himself to feel when they were together.


    ¡°Come, Rorick, the hour is late, we should go.¡± He turned to leave, but Rorick resisted, holding onto Alric, an action that, from anyone else, would have angered him.


    ¡°Do we have to? Couldn¡¯t we stay here? Forever in this moment? Forget about the world, all it¡¯s problems, and stay here?¡± Rorick had never looked more beautiful, than at that moment, and Alric found himself unable to resist. The two embraced again, kissing deeply, passionately, allowing the world to fall into nothing, it did not matter now, letting Corvus, Polisa, southern rebels and plots of deception to fade away, as meaningless as shadows.

 Chapter Fourteen: Depths of Cruelty

    Chapter Fourteen: Depths of Cruelty


    Island of Prid, Mirratroy


    Deep within the overgrowth of the jungles of Prid, a small shack sat in the shade of coconut trees, nearly invisible in the vegetation that surrounded it. Inside its thin wooden walls the screams of a man could be heard, between the noises of a whip as his bare skin was flogged in the sickening, sticky, peeling sound of bloody flesh being torn away. Benioff hung from the ceiling, rusted, iron chains digging into his ankles as he dangled upside down, much like butchered meat. The Blade performing the torturing, a sickly, skinny man with sunken shadowy eyes, gave him an apathetic poke with the handle of his nine tails.


    ¡°I knows you knows somethin, spills it, before I spills you, I gots lots mo than whips for dat pretty hide o yers.¡± Benioff gasped, struggling to find breath, doing his best to think through all the pain.


    ¡°I told you¡­ I¡¯m nobody¡­ I swears, I don¡¯t know nothin!¡± The sickly man grabbed Benioff by the face, peering into him with those dead eyes.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t be believin that, yer a liar, all you coward Terrors be liars.¡± He let go of his face, circling with the whip, like a shark circling for a taste of blood. ¡°But that¡¯s no matter, it¡¯s my job to peel back them layers of falses, and find the¡­ TRUTH!¡±


    The whip struck again, Benioff howling in pain, begging, pleading, screaming, spouting sobbing gibberish in between the vicious strikes that tore his flesh with callous brutality.


    Captain Kreek sat rather casually, with his feet up on an old, dusty table, his back turned away from the scene of cruelty behind him. The sounds of torture were all too familiar to him, the screams and sickening sounds music to his ears. He sat there, unconcerned, cutting pieces off of an apple and eating them from the blade of his knife. Tom stood in the nearby corner, watching the scene with blunt disinterest, half asleep as he scratched his massive belly, his hand playing on the hilt of his dagger. Kreek looked at him, offering an apple slice, shrugging when it was refused and promptly eating it himself. The whip struck once more, and Benioff released the shrill, agonizing yowl of a dying animal, then went still, limp as a corpse as he swayed slowly, back, and forth. Kreek paused mid apple slice, looking over his shoulder at the sickly man who circled the sack of hanging meat.


    ¡°He¡¯s not dead, is he?¡± Said Kreek, his voice lacking in care or concern. The thin, gremlin like man gave Benioff a hard poke, causing him to sway back and forth, but did not receive any further reaction. He held a knife up to bloody man¡¯s nose, bringing it back to see the fog on the blade. The sadistic cur chuckled, tickled with the knowledge his plaything was still alive.


    ¡°He¡¯s still breathin, that he is, cap¡¯n. Spineless wretch is just passed out is all. Don¡¯t you worry none, he wakes up, I got me knives right he-¡±. Kreek waved his hand dismissively.


    ¡°That will be quite enough, Rictoff, you may go.¡± Rictoff looked at Kreek with disbelief and silent fury, not wanting to leave his victim. Eyes longingly latched onto the bloody meat that swung ever so gently, back, and forth, his hands itching to get a hold of his knives, to peel back and cut away the flesh. He looked back at Kreek.


    ¡°Cap¡¯n, he still hasn¡¯t talked, you need me to keep workin on him.¡± Kreek put his feet down, turning around to face Rictoff. He sat there, arms folded over the top of the chair, resting his chin on them as he stared down the back talking cockroach.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been working on this man for the better part of the day, we keep going like this and he¡¯s liable to die before we get the information we need.¡± Kreek stood, stretching, and walked over to Rictoff, putting a hand on his shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re doing things my way now. Now, pack up your¡­¡± He looked at the cheap, rusted things on the table next to Rictoff, his nose crinkling. ¡°knives, and leave Tom and I to our work.¡± Kreek slid a couple of brits into the man¡¯s vest pocket, patting it before turning away, the conversation finished. Rictoff was about to open his mouth again, but then he looked at Tom, the scarred man¡¯s hands just itching for an excuse to beat him bloody and leave him gutted in the jungle underbrush. He grumbled under his breath, but gathered his things and left without another spoken word, much to his own personal wellbeing.


    ¡­


    The world was a mottled, incoherent haze of lights and sounds, everything blurred and mixed as Benioff slowly regained consciousness. Every part of him hurt, as though his entire body had been violently torn apart and put back together wrongly. He thought he heard a voice, but he could not make out what it was saying, he just wanted to rest some more¡­ Water struck him in the face, cold as the bitter depths of the sea, drenching him. Benioff looked around wildly, suddenly alert, and shivering. A big man with a bulbous nose stood holding a bucket, a pale man standing next to him, smiling.


    ¡°Ah, thank you Tom, good work.¡± Said the pale man¡­ Wait¡­ He remembered these men¡­ Who were they¡­ Benioff suddenly tensed up again as he realized who had him hanging by cutting chains in an isolated cabin in the jungle.


    ¡°C-cap¡¯n K-kreek!¡± He choked. Kreek grinned deeply satisfied with the fear his very name could bring. He walked up, peering into Benioff¡¯s bloody and bruised face.


    ¡°I must say, I¡¯m rather glad you¡¯ve finally come back to us, Tom is an effective worker, but unfortunately droll for conversation.¡± Kreek looked at Tom. ¡°But, do not be mistaken, I did not ire him for his¡­ Communicative abilities. Isn¡¯t that right, Tom?¡± To this, Tom just grunted, setting the bucket down hard on the floor. Benioff looked at those hands, bigger than hams, and tried not to think about what they could do to him. Kreek snapped his fingers in front of his face, regaining his attention, however limited it was with his head buzzing the way it was. And what was that smell? ¡°Our previous attempt to get information out of you was¡­ less effective than I would¡¯ve preferred. Ricktoff¡¯s¡­¡± He made a face at the name. ¡°methods were too simple, crass, and I had to send him on his way before the dullard killed you like an idiot.¡±


    The smell was starting to make his head spin, making it even hard to think. Benioff looked around, sniffing sharply as he tried to discern where it was coming from. Kreek smirked, aware of the man¡¯s distress.


    ¡°Problem?¡± He asked coyly, his face smug with hidden knowledge. Benioff could not concentrate on anything else, his eyes continuing to search for the source, his nose irritated by the intense fumes. God, it was like he was dipped in-. His face suddenly went pale. Kreek laughed, clapping his hands together.


    ¡°Ah, yes, as you¡¯ve probably already perceived, that wasn¡¯t water my associate doused you with.¡± He reached back, Tom handing him a candelabra, the flames burning bright as molten wax dripped onto the floor. Kreek brought the fire so close to Benioff that it made even Tom nervous, the big man shifting uncomfortably, but not daring to say anything nor move from his place. Kreek did not care, if anything, he liked the excitement. ¡°It¡¯s whale oil¡±, he said, a spark of psychotic glee in his eyes as he toyed with Benioff, the hanging man struggling in vain to move away as Kreek brought the hot, burning wax back and forth, laughing.


    ¡°Y-yer mad! Y-y-yer daft! You¡¯ll s-set this whole p-place aflame!¡± Kreek did not look at him, his attention focused on the fire.


    ¡°Tell me something, anything useful really, and you have my word I won¡¯t light you like the oil soaked rat that you are.¡± Benioff sputtered, not speaking in coherent sentences. ¡°what was that? I don¡¯t think I caught that. Did you, Tom?¡± Kreek stepped back, and Tom promptly reached down and grabbed a second bucket, dousing Benioff again, drenching him to his very soul, thick, fish smelling liquid dripping off him and pooling onto the ground. Kreek walked up so fast with the burning candelabra Tom nearly pulled him back out of instinct, but stayed his hand, knowing better than to question the man. It had been a while since he had seen Kreek this excitable, not since the Smiling Devils, and it thrilled him, but also made him uneasy. ¡°Do not mistake my restraint for a lacking in stomach.¡± Kreek grabbed Benioff by the hair, lifting his head so that he looked at the ceiling, holding the candle over him so that the hot wax fell onto his face, into his eyes. He smiled a wicked smile¡­and dropped the candelabra, causing an almost inhuman scream from Benioff.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Tom nearly ran into Kreek, running up and catching the candelabra just before it landed on Benioff, his rough hand practically touching the man¡¯s oil sheened face. Tom looked at Kreek with the look that said things were going too far. The big man stamped the candelabra onto the table, and lumbered back to his position. Kreek merely smirked, having completely anticipated Tom¡¯s intervention. He looked back at Benioff, realizing he was still holding the man¡¯s oil soaked hair. He let him go, letting the gibbering wretch swing back, and wiped his hand on a handkerchief retrieved from his vest.


    ¡°Are we ready to talk?¡± He finished running the smooth cloth over his fingers, before throwing the ruined thing into the corner. Benioff, gasped, collecting himself, coming down from the shock. He racked his mind, thinking, thinking of anything that would be useful, something that would save him. Kreek was getting impatient though. ¡°I suppose he really doesn¡¯t know anything¡­¡± He looked at the fire, and then at Tom. ¡°Go ahead and torch him.¡± He stepped back, and Tom picked up the flaming candles, walking up to Benioff, ready to light him.


    ¡°WAIT!! Wait wait! I know somethin! I do! I really do! I have somethin!¡± Tom went back, putting the candelabra down again. Kreek came up, leaning down so he could look Benioff in the eyes, his face lit up with interest.


    ¡°Excellent, I knew you were not completely useless.¡± He chuckled. ¡°Now, tell me, what. Do. You. Know?¡± Benioff¡¯s heart was beating out of his chest, and he did his best to catch his breath, having been faced with death more times in the past 24 hours than he ever had before.


    ¡°I¡­ uh¡­ I knows bout this job Reis be planning¡­¡± When Kreek gave him a bored look, eyes dancing over to the flames, he started panicking again. ¡°I mean! It be a big job! Yeah! Real big! Reis says it¡¯ll put Terrors back on top again, yes he does!¡± Kreek looked at Tom, then back at Benioff, his face skeptical.


    ¡°Details?¡± Benioff squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily, struggling to remember what he had heard, the information that would stay the flames. Kreek snapped his fingers in front of his face. ¡°Tick tock.¡±


    ¡°Ok, ok, Reis said somethin about a big job we was goin to be doin some time next month. There be a big shipment, somethin valuable.¡± Kreek liked the sound of valuable, treasure was treasure, regardless of form.


    ¡°What is it? What¡¯s in the shipment? Gold? Silk? Siege machine parts?¡± Benioff just shook his head, practically crying.


    ¡°I-I Don¡¯t know! Reis kept it very hush hush! He wouldn¡¯t tell nobody what it was! Just that it was treasure worth 10 ships!¡± Kreek¡¯s excitement soared at the thought of such riches. He grabbed Benioff by the shoulders, bringing his face so close to his they were nearly touching.


    ¡°Where?¡± Kreek spoke the word with barely contained restraint, and Tom was certain that if the man did not tell Kreek what he wanted to hear in the next 5 seconds, that he would forget about burning him, but instead, gut the man like an overgrown snapper fish. Benioff saw this in the man¡¯s eyes, and his voice reflected his terror.


    ¡°L-l-lithia! It¡¯s in Lithia!¡± Kreek shoved him away, letting him swing back and forth, and pulled out his knife, holding it out threateningly.


    ¡°WHERE!? What port!? Spit it out, or I¡¯ll gut you and burn what¡¯s left!¡± Benioff was sobbing by this point, terrified beyond reasoning.


    ¡°PARSAI!! PARSAI!! THE PORT IS IN PARSAI!!¡± Kreek looked at Tom, then back at Benioff.


    ¡°You¡¯re certain that the port is Parsai?¡± Benioff could not speak coherent words, his heart pounding out of his chest, and just shook his head up and down rapidly. Kreek chuckled, stowing his blade. ¡°Perfect, see, that wasn¡¯t so hard.¡± He turned away from Benioff, having gotten everything he wanted from him. ¡°We need to prepare a ship, Tom, I want you to select 4 dozen of our best men. You know who the best killers are, find them, and make sure they¡¯re prepared for the trip.¡± Benioff relaxed a little, thinking maybe he would be ok.


    ¡°So, does this mean I can go?¡± He asked tentatively. Kreek did not even acknowledge him, seeming to have completely forgotten the man hanging in the center of the room. Kreek began walking to the door, still plotting in his mind, Tom lumbering behind him.


    ¡°Make sure the men are ready for violence, they may need to gut a few Terrors to get the job done.¡± Tom just laughed; a deep, wicked laugh reserved for violent men.


    ¡°Aye, it wouldn¡¯t be no fun if they didn¡¯t get to kill a few o em.¡± Benioff started panicking again, they could not just leave him here!


    ¡°Hey! You said if I gave you information, you¡¯d let me go!¡± Kreek stopped in his tracks, turning to look at the irksome man demanding his attention.


    ¡°I said nothing of the sort, rat. I said that I wouldn¡¯t light you on fire.¡± He looked at Tom. ¡°But I didn¡¯t say anything about him.¡± His face lost some of its joviality, becoming harder, more serious. ¡°Do it.¡± Tom turned and kicked over the table next to Benioff, sending the candelabra flying down to the ground, igniting the puddle of oil that had formed on the floor. The fire spread faster than storm winds, quickly approaching the struggling, screaming man that danced on a rope.


    ¡°NO!! NO!! NO NO NO NO NO!! FUCK!! YOU BASTARD!! YOU SOULLESS BASTARD!! YOU¡¯LL BURN IN HELL!!¡± The fire danced in Kreek¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°You first.¡± He spoke quietly, almost to himself. The fire reached Benioff, setting him off like a torch, completely enveloping him. He screamed, an inhuman, shrieking scream that echoed in the mind like the wailings of the lost and the damned, the man thrashing violently, and then going still. Tom put a hand on Kreek¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°We need to go.¡± Kreek nodded absently; eyes locked on the burning corpse. They turned, and left into the jungle, the fire swiftly engulfing the shack, setting the whole place ablaze, so bright, as if competing with the setting sun. It burned like a beacon, consuming the dry, rotted wood, erasing the structure, yet not spreading to the underbrush, nor to the trees, that held the moisture of the recent rainfall. In less than an hour, the shack was gone, Benioff and everything in it reduced to ash, and not even a whisper of what had happened here would survive to warn the Terrors of their doom.


    ¡­


    The Sozzled Parrot, Britva


    It was well past the first hour when Mary exited the room, shutting the door quietly behind herself as not to waken the man she had been entertaining. He had been quick, drunken, and sloppy, but the men who came to the brothel usually were. After years in the unsavory business, it did not matter much to her anymore, it was just a job. She stepped into the powder room for a brief moment, more a glorified closet than anything else. Mary looked into the cracked mirror at her reflection, taking a second to fix her hair, straightening her dress. She smiled, going over herself. Still pretty. She looked around the powder room, at the cracked mirror and the rotted floorboards, and her eyes fell, suddenly sad.


    ¡°Mary! I ain¡¯t payin you to stand! Get out here and start cleanin the bar!¡± Ms. Gretchen called from the front, taking a drag from her pipe before hacking up a wad of phlegm. Mary hurried to the task, not wanting to anger the vile woman any further.


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am! Right away!¡± She quickly gathered a mop and some water from the sink, beginning the long, tedious task that was the nightly clean up. A few drunks sat sleeping at tables, a common annoyance around closing time. Usually Mary would gently shake them awake, with a soft voice telling them to go home. To their misfortune, however, Ms. Gretchen was still awake, and in a mood no less. The stout woman shook her head, puffing profusely on her pipe as she glared at the fuddled sailors sleeping in her bar. She looked over at Mary, who averted her gaze and mopped faster, and then back at the men. The hulking snapper fish put her pipe out on the bar, stuffing it in her dirty dress before tromping over to the louts.


    ¡°Get up!¡± she snapped, clubbing one of the men upside the head, evoking a slew of curses from the sailor. ¡°Shuddap!¡± She hit the man again. ¡°Don¡¯t you be swearin at me in me own bar!¡± She grabbed him by the collar, pulling the poor, confused man down to her level, dragging him to the door and tossing him out. She turned to the other sailors who were now more than awake. ¡°We¡¯re closed! Now get!¡± They left without further protest. The woman sighed, looking tired, then pulled out her pipe, lighting it again before taking a long drag. She held the smoke in, before releasing it in a series of o¡¯s. ¡°Mary, I be headin to bed now, these drunks wear me out more every day.¡± She took another draw from her pipe. ¡°I want this place spotless before you go to bed.¡± Mary nodded, dipping her mop back in the water, continuing her task.


    ¡°Yes Ms. Gretchen.¡± The burly man woman grunted, yawned, then left Mary to herself.


    ¡­


    When Mary had finally finished cleaning the bar it was half past the third hour. She groaned, rubbing her back, sore from another day of work. She put away the mop, stopping to yawn before making the slow, steady climb up the stairs to her little room at the third level of the brothel. Her mind was a flurry of thoughts for the next day, and she did her best to quiet them, for now was time for sleep. She was expected to be up by the eighth hour, and the idea of less than 5 hours of sleep was not appealing. Oh well, grumbling would not help. She yawned again, coming to the top of the stairs.


    Mary stopped when she came by Ryan¡¯s door, all her mundane, trivial thoughts leaving her as she placed her hand on the rough, warped wood. She smiled, remembering a little boy who loved to smile and play and get into trouble. A boy who loved to read with his mother, who brought her jungle flowers and begged to keep turtles, snakes, and island cats as pets.


    Mary¡¯s smile lessened as she remembered his bruised and broken body on the table, not 2 months ago. What was this boy¡­ what was her son getting into? So much chaos was happening in the city, and she felt as though Ryan was right in the middle of it. A single tear fell down her cheek, and she toyed with the idea of entering the room, but decided against it. She went to bed feeling silently defeated, and fell into a troubled sleep. It was for the best, however, that she had not opened the door, for Ryan was not there.

 Chapter Fifteen: To Drink a Pint or Two

    <h1>Chapter Fifteen: To Drink a Pint or Two</h1>


    The Blind Dog, Britva


    The city had seen many horrors over the past month, the violence brought upon by the salt gangs, the turf war between the Blades and Terrors. Fires, explosions, musket shots, and cannon fire, held much of the town at some level of fear. Mirratroy was resilient, however, its people as firm as the islands on which they lived, and this was no truer than in the city of Britva. Despite all that had happened, there was still singing, drinking, whoring, and a good time to be had by one and all. The Blind Dog was just one example of this, open late, stocked with girls and booze, and alive with laughter and song and the clinking of drinks.


    With Mermaid¡¯s Kiss gone, this was one of the few locations open at this time, and inside the Blind Dog was packed with sailors taking advantage of the bar¡¯s later hours. Every table was taken, filled with people singing their shanties, gambling on cards and dice, and spilling more booze than they were drinking. Off in the corner a band played its jolly tune with the sounds of fiddles, accordions, and tin whistles, and girls as pretty as buried treasure pushed through the throng with smiles, fresh booze, and topless nipples. In the center of all this happy chaos was Ryan and Jim, drinking heavily from pewter tankards, heads tipped back as they chugged the contents with jovial enthusiasm. Ryan finished his drink and slapped the tankard down on the table, wiping the froth from his mouth.


    ¡°Ah, there we go!¡± He gave Jim, who was still not finished with his drink, a playful shove, causing the boy to sputter and spill his bumbo over the table.


    ¡°OY!¡± Jim shoved Ryan in the shoulder. ¡°That¡¯s good drink ya be spillin!¡± He finished what was left in his cup, pausing a moment before letting out a loud belch. ¡°Aye, that¡¯s the stuff, I be tellin ya, Ryan, you got to get yerself a cup o dat.¡± Ryan laughed, shaking his head.


    ¡°Nah, that stuff¡¯s too sweet, don¡¯t care much for the bumbo, I¡¯ll stick to the rum.¡± Jim just grinned, shrugging, already tipped off the drink. He pulled a coin purse that did not belong to him out of his pocket, tossing it casually in the air.


    ¡°What say we gets us another round?¡± Ryan laughed, eyeing the purse as it rose and fell.


    ¡°I suppose if they¡¯re feeling generous.¡± Jim smiled ever wider, throwing an arm over Ryan¡¯s shoulder in drunken enthusiasm.


    ¡°Aye, that¡¯s the spirit! I says we keeps drinkin til the coin run out on us!¡± The two laughed heartily, and jim waved a bar wench over. A woman with dark skin the same color as the chocolate Ryan had seen in the sweets shop came to their table, her long, smooth hair flowing down past her shoulders and playing on the edge of her subtle nipples, framing a delicate face with eyes of golden chestnut. She must have been from Tiriis, or perhaps Eubean, Ryan was not sure, either one was likely. What he did know was that she was beautiful.


    ¡°Hello boys, what can I get you? Drink? Or¡­¡± She traced around her breasts with the faintest touch of her finger tips, throwing her hair over her shoulder. ¡°Something a bit more¡­ special.¡± Ryan blushed, though it was hardly noticeable with how tan he was. Drinking made most men brave, Ryan thought it just made him more awkward, and right now he was skunked. Jim, of course, was unphased, and merely smiled at the woman with his trademark grin, smooth as fresh polished steel despite his youth, and the fact he was further in the drink than Ryan.


    ¡°Aye, you be somethin, that ya be. But we be here for the drink.¡± He lifted his tankard, turning it upside down to indicate its lack of alcohol. ¡°I be havin a bumbo, and this lubber¡­¡± Jim looked over at Ryan, smirking when he saw his obvious interest in the woman. ¡°He¡¯ll be havin plain rum.¡± He held up 2 Sirens between his fingers, which she took ever gently, smiling at Jim, the boy winking at her as she left. Ryan watched her go, eyes lingering on the contours of the woman¡¯s body, picturing a little less clothing. Jim gave him a jab in the ribs, pulling him out of his daydream.


    ¡°Oy! What was that for?¡± Jim looked at him knowingly, grinning toothily.


    ¡°You like her, don¡¯t ya?¡± Ryan blushed again, and jim laughed at him. Ryan gave him a firm shove in the shoulder.


    ¡°What? And you don¡¯t?¡± Jim shrugged.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think she¡¯s interested in me.¡± Ryan gave him a look, raising his eyebrows.


    ¡°Hard to tell, with how she was smiling at you.¡± Jim rolled his eyes.


    ¡°She smiles at anyone with o few coins in their pocket.¡± Jim craned his neck, looking over at the bar. ¡°I be tellin ya, that girl finds ya fancy, and it ain¡¯t the coin talkin.¡± Before Ryan could ponder this, the woman returned with their drinks, placing them delicately in front of them.


    ¡°There you go boys, drink up. Wave me over if ya be needin¡­¡± She smiled at Ryan. ¡°Anything else¡­¡± And, with that, she disappeared into the sea of bodies that only seemed to be getting thicker. Jim wasted no time, taking a long drink from his tankard.


    ¡°Ahhh, nothin like the booze, nothin.¡± Ryan nodded absently, sipping from his own cup, still thinking about the woman¡¯s smile. After several moments of pondering silence, Jim groaned, finishing off his drink before setting it hard on the table. ¡°Oy, you think too much, think think think, thought the drink was supposed to give ya balls, not take em away.¡± the boy tossed a handful of Sirens on the table in front of Ryan. ¡°Here, take these, go have a fun time with yer Tiriisian princess, just stop with that thinkin face.¡± Ryan took the money, shuffling the coins around in his hand. Jim prodded him in the side. ¡°Best hurry, bar packed as it is, she won¡¯t be available for long.¡±


    Jim was right, and Ryan knew it. He finished what was left of his rum and pushed up from the table, catching himself on a chair as he nearly lost his footing. Drink had caught up to him faster than he had thought, but it was not anything he could not manage. Ryan pushed into the crowd, searching for the golden eyed beauty with chocolate skin.


    ¡­


    Much of the events that followed were a blur to Ryan, as he slipped in and out of focus. He remembered being led up the stairs, her hand in his. He remembered the smell of perfume, sweet, cheap, and overbearing, the smell of sweat, damp wood, and unwashed sheets. He remembered the sounds of moans, gasps, and aching cries, and the sounds of sweet nothings, whispered in his ear.


    Out of everything, however, Ryan remembered the feeling the best. The smooth, caressing touch of the woman¡¯s skin, warm, and inviting, the feel of her lips on his, better than booze, better than money. The rough, excitable thrusts, as he entered her welcoming tightness, hot, wet, wrapping around him in ecstasy as he continued to pick up speed.


    Despite these blissful feelings, the feeling that overshadowed everything, was that of emptiness. Everything about this encounter, however great, however good it made him feel, was meaningless, temporary, time and pleasure bought with silver and nothing more; Every kiss, every touch, every yearning thrust, overshadowed in a growing hollowness that ate at the back of Ryan¡¯s drink addled mind. He denied these feelings, refusing to give into his insecurities, instead taking his frustrations out on a nameless whore.


    With a final, shuddering groan, Ryan released himself, pulling away before collapsing into a useless, drunken heap on the dirty, sweat stained bedspread, breathing in huffs like a man who had been pulled from the sea. She giggled, but then she smiled at him, and it felt genuine. The woman laid down next to him, running a finger down his side.


    ¡°You had a lot of tension to get out.¡± She said gently, laughing softly. ¡°But that¡¯s alright, everyone gets pent up now and again, it¡¯s just life.¡± Ryan¡¯s breathing started to calm down, allowing him to speak.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I never got your name.¡± The woman leaned over him, looking down into his eyes. Ryan¡¯s vision started blurring, the drink trying to drag him down to sleep, and the Tiriisian woman began to change, turning lighter, her hair becoming a radiant blonde. When she opened her mouth, it was not her voice, but rather, the soft, angelic voice of someone else.


    ¡°My name is Angeline.¡± She whispered. Ryan shot up on the bed, suddenly awake, startling the woman. ¡°By the Nameless! What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± Ryan looked around the room as if confused.


    ¡°Angeline?¡± It had felt so real, as though she had been right there, but it was just him, him and the whore. The woman looked at Ryan, trying to make sense of what was happening.


    ¡°What are you talking about? My name¡¯s Diana.¡± She looked around the room, puzzled. ¡°There¡¯s no one named Angeline here. Were you thinking of another girl?¡± She folded her arms. ¡°Because 2 costs extra.¡±


    Ryan did not acknowledge her, lost in his own mind. He did not know why, but his thoughts kept coming back to the girl with golden hair, surrounded by flowers of a thousand shades and colors. A sensation of guilt scratched against the inside of his chest, guilt for betraying a girl he did not even know. He had never met anyone who made him feel this way, as though his heart had forgotten how to beat properly, and his lungs had forgotten how to breathe. He needed to be with her.


    Without another word, Ryan got up from the bed and stumbled out the door, ignoring Diana¡¯s confused sputterings, determined to find the angel that lived in a garden of flowers.


    ¡­


    It was fast approaching the fourth hour and Ryan was absolutely tipped as he attempted to navigate the darkened streets. The rum was taking him, his body wanting nothing more than to sleep, but his mind was determined. He walked a rather haphazard path, fumbling from one side of the street to the other, bumping into waste bins and apologizing to the open air, catching himself on walls and lampposts as the world spun around him.


    The city was quiet this time of night, even the overnight establishments slowing down as people simply went to bed. What few people that were out were shopkeeps and fishermen, getting an early start on a new day. Most of them paid Ryan no mind, busy with their own concerns, but a couple of them turned their heads to gawk at the drunken youth, even if only momentarily. He would have told them to shove off, but as his feet stepped off of cobblestones and onto sand, he looked up and saw the castle of black stone, looming ominously against the beach.


    The large, intimidating structure contrasted so severely with the serenity of the beachface and surrounding jungle that it appeared almost alien, as though it did not belong and was only there out of spite. Most people avoided the place altogether unless they had business with the High Captain, and were smart for doing so, Captain Brimsley was not kind to those who trespassed. The man¡¯s reputation was such that it was rumored that the halls beneath the keep were filled with dozens of sick and dying wretches, all victims of the captain¡¯s wrath. However, Ryan was drunk, and not even the Nameless could comprehend his motivations at this time.


    The sozzled boy walked the length of the beach, coming up to the wall that encircled the garden, or at least, he thought it was the same wall, it was hard to tell with his head spinning. Yes, there were the barrels from the first time he climbed over. Ryan looked about, his vision doubled and blurring, but it looked like the area was deserted. Ryan climbed up on top of the barrels, bracing himself to keep from falling in his stupor. He reached up, digging his fingers into the cracks and grooves in the stone and mortar. He was not being chased and could actually work his way up properly this go around, and even skunked as he was, Ryan could climb anything.


    It took him a few minutes, mostly on account of his double vision making him misstep, but he eventually made it to the top. Ryan straddled the wall, looking down into the dark garden, confused for a moment when he did not see Angeline. He then remembered the hour, the sun still not risen, and he laughed quietly at himself for being an idiot. She was not here, and only the Nameless knew when she would be back. Ryan suddenly felt very tired, and decided he was better off coming back later. He went to go back over the wall, but lost his balance, fumbling stupidly before falling face first on the garden floor and passing out drunk.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡­


    The sun shone brightly through the open windows of the small, yet beautiful room in Blackstone Keep, the sea breeze blowing gently and causing the elegant white drapes to dance gayfully in the sunlight. The air was pleasantly warm and calm, a sign that today would be a glorious day on the islands, a rare treat during the Month of Storms.


    Angeline dozed peacefully on a large poster bed in the middle of the room, lying on her back with her head haloed by her golden hair, beautiful, even in sleep. Island birds chirped and sang outside, but the girl barely stirred, rolling onto her side, perfectly at peace. A light knock came on her door, Angeline¡¯s eyes fluttering for the first time.


    ¡°Miss, are you awake yet? I¡¯m here to get you ready for the day.¡± It was Ms. Sally, the young woman that her father had hired to help her with different tasks, tasks made difficult by a lack of sight, one of which was getting ready for the day. Ms. Sally had been with her for as long as Angeline could remember, though the woman was not much older, and she had grown to think of her as a dear friend. Angeline smiled, and sat up in the bed, facing the direction of the door.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m awake, you may enter.¡± She heard the door open and the unmistakable sound of Ms. Sally¡¯s light, pittering footsteps on the hard stone. The short, petite woman, went to work, gathering Angeline¡¯s clothes and helping the girl get dressed for the day.


    ¡°My my, miss, looking radiant as always, I don¡¯t know how you do it, but I swears your hair always come out perfect, no matter the day.¡± Angeline giggled, blushing from the praise.


    ¡°Thank you, I¡¯ve never seen my hair, nor my face for that matter, but everyone tells me I¡¯m pretty, though, I wouldn¡¯t really know.¡± She laughed, but it came out awkward, and she frowned, rubbing her hands together. Sally lifted her arms, putting her into a dress.


    ¡°Well, they ain¡¯t lying, you¡¯re pretty as a summer¡¯s day, that you are, it¡¯s enough to make a girl jealous.¡± Sally smoothed out some areas on the dress, tugging it down in places. ¡°There we go, miss, all dressed nice and proper, now let me just work on your face an hair a bit and you¡¯ll be right as rain.¡± Ms. Sally took her hand, leading her to the dressing table just a few steps in front of the bed, sitting her down in a comfy chair Angeline was sure was too extravagant for her room. She could feel the brush in her hair, the long, gentle strokes as Sally took her time making everything perfect, humming a familiar rhyme as she worked. Angeline rubbed her hands again.


    ¡°You know, Ms. Sally, you don¡¯t have to call me miss, Angeline is fine.¡± Sally paused a moment, the brush stopping mid stroke, then continued on a again.


    ¡°No no, miss, it wouldn¡¯t be proper, what with your father being the high captain an all.¡± Angeline sighed, of course, her father, how could she have forgotten. In her memory, no less than 3 servants had been punished for speaking too loosely in the halls of Blackstone Keep, she was sure they were still in the basement.


    A few moments went by in relative silence, with Sally commenting every now again about something, the weather, Angeline¡¯s hair, new fruit in the market, a ship with red sails at the docks. Angeline responded with yes¡¯s and oh¡¯s, and other fillers, but she was preoccupied with other thoughts. Finally, Sally stepped back, admiring her work.


    ¡°There you go, Miss, fresh as new sails, that you be.¡± Angeline smiled, she could not see the results of the woman¡¯s work, but Sally¡¯s words were full of pride, and it made her happy that she cared that much. ¡°Now are you ready for something to eat? Or would you like to go to the gardens for a bit? It¡¯s a lovely day for it.¡±


    ¡°Actually, I think I¡¯ll spend a little time in my room, if that¡¯s alright.¡± There was a pause, but then Angeline heard the woman¡¯s footsteps move to the door.


    ¡°That¡¯s quite alright, miss, no need to ask my permission. If you be needing me, just ring the bell.¡± The audible sound of the door opening and gently shutting, and then silence of being alone. Angeline listened for a bit, but all she heard were the sounds of parrots and gulls outside. She pulled open a drawer on the vanity, reaching in and pulling out the familiar rectangular shape of the small box she kept in there, setting it down on the table in front of her. She opened the box, running her fingers over the contents.


    It was a box of stones, or gems, she thought her father had called them crystals. He had given them to her as a gift, a gift for his little sunrise, and they were supposed to be beautiful, glowing like little blue suns he said. Angeline cherished them, and took them out whenever she had time to herself. They were cool and smooth, with interesting shapes and edges, but that was not the only reason she loved them.


    Angeline selected a medium gem from the box, one that felt round like a ball, but with one side that tapered to a point, so that it was almost like a large teardrop. She held the stone in her hand, and then took a deep breath through her nose. Almost immediately Angeline could see, or what her version of ¡°seeing¡± was. It was faint, a world of black, but when she breathed in, when she took in the smells of her surroundings, she could see shapes, lines, an outline that gave depth and clarity to the darkness she knew all too well. She called them her magic stones, and it was for this reason that they were so precious to her.


    Angeline looked around the room, holding the stone in her hand, seeing things with awe and wonder, things most people would consider mundane. She looked at her vanity, watching her fingers as she ran them over the wood, she looked at her bed, considering it much too large for the space. She walked out to the balcony, looking down into the garden. There were no colors, only black, but she could see the outlines of a thousand different flowers, she could see the statues, the parrots, the boy lying next to the wall¡­ Wait¡­ There was a boy in the garden. Angeline was puzzled by this, it was not the day nor the time for the gardner to come to the castle, but she could not help but think that the boy seemed¡­ familiar, somehow. She decided to investigate.


    Angeline went and placed the magic stone back in the box, putting her world back into black. It would have been nice to take it with her, but she could get around fine without it, and she worried about overusing it, she had held one too long one day and it had turned to dust in her hand, an incident that had truly mortified her.


    Running a hand against the wall for reference, Angeline walked across the room to the door, feeling for the handle and exiting out into the hallway. She stopped a moment, listening, but the castle was quiet today, she could just make out the sound of Ms. Sally humming to herself somewhere down the hall to her left, probably dusting the music room. Angeline quickly went right, towards the stairs, and the gardens, doing her best to avoid unnecessary attention, especially from her father, if he found out about the trespassing youth he¡¯d skin him. She was walking at such a brisk pace that she almost stumbled on the stairs, stopping just at their edge. Never before had Angeline been so grateful that her father had changed the stones and their texture near the stairs so she could feel when she near them. She laughed quietly at herself, happy not to have fallen, and carefully descended the steps to the garden entryway.


    Angeline paused a minute in the entrance of the garden, Feeling the warm sun on her skin, listening to the birds, breathing deeply the smell of the flowers, this truly was her favorite space of the whole castle. She remembered the boy, and hurried to the far wall. She knew this place better than she knew the castle, and had no difficulty navigating around the birdbaths, statues, and flowers. Once she had reached the wall she moved carefully down, trying to find the boy in the grass. No, no, not there, not there either. She was sure she had seen him, the stones had never misled her before, had he left?


    Suddenly her foot stepped on something firm and uneven in the ground. She did not have time to wonder what it was because a low groan emanated from in front of her.


    ¡°That¡¯s my hand.¡± mumbled the boy groggily. Angeline¡¯s ears perked up in recognition.


    ¡°Ryan?¡± She asked tentatively, to which Ryan merely responded with another groan. She needed to get him out of sight, this was her space but there were a hundred windows, and nearly half of them overlooked the garden. However, there were no doors on the wall that led outside, and Ryan was too hungover to make it back over the wall¡­ he smelled like rum. She¡¯d have to take him inside. Angeline knelt down, gently shaking him. ¡°Come on, I need you to move, it won¡¯t be pleasant if my father finds you out here.¡± She grabbed hold of his arm and under his shoulder, and with mild difficulty, managed to get him to stand up. As quickly as she could manage, she crossed the garden, pulling Ryan along as he shambled in a dazed half sleep. She reached out a hand, feeling for the rough stone of the castle wall, breathing a sigh of relief when she found it, knowing that at least it meant they were out of sight of the windows.


    Using the wall as a guide, Angeline came through the garden entry to the base of the staircase that led back to her room. Ryan slouched a bit, pulling her down with his weight, and mumbled something about turning off the sun. She hefted him up as best as she could, and half led, half dragged the boy up the steps. When she got to the top, she stopped, and listened to the halls. From the sound of it, Miss Sally was still down the other hall. Angeline put a hand on the wall, hurrying to the end of the hallway to her bedroom. Her fingers fell into empty space, and she realized she had come to the door, remembering she had not closed it on her way out. She rushed into the room, but heard a loud thud, followed by a pained groan from Ryan. She had run him into the door... that she now guessed had not been open as widely as she had thought. She felt terrible about hurting the poor boy, but she did not have time to stop.


    ¡°Miss? Are you alright?¡± Called Ms. Sally from the other room, overhearing the noise.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Ms. Sally, I just walked into the vanity.¡± Angeline¡¯s voice came out a little more shrill than she would have liked. She closed the door and pulled Ryan across the room, who promptly collapsed onto the bed with hardly any help on her part and passed out again, mumbling something into the pillow she could not make out. She breathed a sigh of relief, Ryan would be safe in here until he sobered up¡­ she hoped. A knock came on the door, startling Angeline, by the Nameless, she had a drunken boy on her bed!


    ¡°Miss, it¡¯s Sally, I¡¯ve finished cleaning the music room, I was wondering if you were feeling up to some breakfast? I can make porridge with those mountain berries you like.¡± Angeline struggled to keep her voice calm.


    ¡°Yes, that sounds wonderful Ms. Sally.¡± She paused, coming up with an idea. ¡°I¡¯ll eat in the garden this morning, the weather feels lovely today.¡± She added, praying that Sally did not enter the room.


    ¡°Aye, that it is, miss, good sun and fair heat. I¡¯ll prepare the porridge and bring it out to you.¡± She paused. ¡°I¡¯ll even throw in a few of those jellied biscuits, Nameless knows you love those.¡± Angeline could not help but smile, Ms. Sally really was kind soul.


    ¡°Thank you Ms. Sally, you spoil me.¡±


    ¡°Well, a girl like you deserves it, miss.¡± Angeline could hear the woman¡¯s footsteps fading down the hall and suddenly remembered how to breathe. She had bought herself a little time, hopefully time enough for Ryan to sleep off the drink.


    ¡­


    Angeline entered her room and immediately shut the door behind her. She had managed to keep Sally with her in the garden for a couple hours, talking about anything and everything she could think of to keep the conversation going, all the while worrying about Ryan. Luckily for him, her father was not at the castle today, as she now knew from Sally, but rather, he was meeting with merchants from Tiriis or somewhere. So at least she did not have to think about what he might do to the poor boy, she had overheard him talking one time about something called Keelhauling? Ryan stirred on the bed, waking from his drunken snooze.


    ¡°Oye! What¡¯s with the sun? The fucking Nameless, that¡¯s bright!¡± There was a pause, as Ryan tried to make sense of his surroundings. ¡°Where the hell did I end up?¡± The sound of hands running on sheets. ¡°This bed¡¯s as big as my room¡­¡± He muttered sleepily. Angeline approached from the door, smiling warmly, although it felt a bit awkward.


    ¡°Hello, I¡¯m happy you¡¯re feeling better, I, I found you lying out in the garden.¡± Ryan sharply inhaled, seeing Angeline for the first time, gasping as realization dawned on him.


    ¡°You¡¯re Angeline? Brimsley¡¯s daughter? That means¡­ I¡¯m in¡­ I¡¯m in¡­ Oh God¡­¡±


    ¡°Blackstone Keep. This is my bedroom.¡± Ryan started Panicking, pushing himself up on the bed until he was sitting up against the back wall, she could tell because the sound his back made when it hit the stone.


    ¡°No, no, no no no, I can¡¯t be here. What am I doing here? Brimsley will gut me with a hot knife!¡± Angeline sat on the bed next to him, putting a hand tentatively on his leg.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to be afraid.¡± She did her best to sound comforting. ¡°My father is away from the island on business, it¡¯s just me and my caretaker today, maybe a couple guards, but they don¡¯t normally come around since my father says reputation keeps most people away.¡± Her smile faded a bit, thinking on the loneliness of the castle, but then returned as she tried to be friendly. ¡°I brought you inside so you recover from your drink, I couldn¡¯t get you over the wall otherwise.¡± Ryan started to calm down, she could feel it in his breathing.


    ¡°Well, I guess I should be thanking you, I¡¯m just trying to figure out what I¡¯m doing here.¡± Angeline moved her hand away.


    ¡°To be honest, I was wondering that myself, You¡¯ve not been here since you visited me nearly a month ago, and then I find you lying in my garden smelling of rum.¡± Ryan blushed, though she could not see it, as he remembered the thought, however blurry it was, that brought him here.


    ¡°Well, I guess, I wanted to see you again.¡± Angeline blushed, unsure of what to make of the boy, but what Ryan saw was beautiful, and innocent. Still, she was Brimsley¡¯s daughter¡­ the very thought terrified him. ¡°I don¡¯t know, I do stupid things when I¡¯m drunk, once I tried fight a pig because I thought it looked at me funny. I really should be going, no telling when Brimsley will be back.¡± Angeline¡¯s smile faded a little, looking disappointed, there was no escaping the fear people felt for her father.


    ¡°Oh, I see, that¡¯s quite alright, I understand.¡± Ryan got up from the bed, walking across the room and getting up on the window sill. Angeline grasped the fabric of her dress tightly, not wanting their conversation to end, yet feeling defeated in this desire, but she could not just let him leave, not without saying something first. ¡°Ryan, for what it is worth, I¡¯m very happy you came to see me again¡­ Maybe, come back before the month passes again?¡± Angeline blushed again, feeling stupid. Ryan paused on the sill.


    ¡°Aye, maybe.¡± Then he left out the window and was gone.

 Chapter Sixteen: 3000 Miles South

    <h1>Chapter Sixteen: 3000 Miles South</h1>


    Month of Giving, Southern Imperial Railway, 400 miles West of Valtroy


    Corvus was a peculiar man, with peculiar tendencies. While he often gave off an air of calm collection and assuredness, there were many things he was particular about, such as the temperature of his tea, and the placement of his cabin when riding a train. Situated next to a window which would predominantly face East and North, so as to not disturb his eyes with the sun, In addition to being placed at equal distance between an exit and the washroom, yet far enough away so as to not be bothered by the smell. Yes, the location of his cabin was tantamount to perfection, his tea, however, was an unprecedented disappointment.


    No less than 5 degrees colder than requested, it might as well have been tepid, and that was not even to mention the fact that it had not been properly filtered, he could taste traces of tea leaves. He had been on this train for nearly 5 days, and not once had the kitchen staff brought him an acceptable brew, despite his insistence on the matter. Corvus grimaced, setting the objectionable cup of lukewarm dross back on the tray and pushing it away from him. He retrieved a little black booklet out of his doublet, deciding to read over a few of his notes. Crystal Borne numbers and statistics, peculiarities with Rorick, notes on Alric¡¯s sister¡­ Ah, yes, unsettling oddities between Governor Bakker¡¯s reports and third party analysis.


    Corvus glanced briefly at the wealth of scribbled information, written in such a way that only his eyes could discern it, and frowned. It was clear that something criminal was occuring, but without proper inspection it was difficult to allocate the source of the corruption, much less make an arrest, or so the Council insisted. Surely he had his suspicions, supported by paper and logic, but Melcania was not Geargandi, laws worked differently here, regardless of what his notes were suggesting.


    Corvus closed the booklet, carefully returning it to its proper place, and leaned back in his seat, Closing his eyes as he rubbed his temples in frustration. Territory inspections played a vital role in ensuring that areas of the Empire remained productive, and loyal. It showed people that even thousands of miles away, the emperor¡¯s eyes were watching, and when officials of the Council neglected this duty, delinquency and duplicity were sure to spread. Honestly, with Kgnaska being the furthest territory from the Imperial capital, over 3000 miles south of Averynce, it was not surprising to see people taking advantage of the lack of observation.


    Favorably, a territory should be visited by a member of the Council once every 5 years, but Kgnaska had been willfully overlooked for a number of reasons. One being the considerable distance from the capital. And then there was the heat, unbearable regardless of the season. There were many more excuses just as trivial, however, Corvus suspected the true cause of the Council¡¯s negligence was that no one wanted to meet with Governor Gravis Bakker.


    Bakker was a¡­ disagreeable man, to put it gently, and not one of the 20 Council members wanted anything to do with him, leading Corvus to suspect that his ¡°promotion¡± to Governor, was less earned, and more of a way of keeping the man as far away as possible. Regardless, their childish remissness had caused festering in the Kgnaskan Territory, and it had fallen upon himself to take care of it. As the Chief Advisor of the High Emperor, he could think of better uses of his time. He wished more than ever to have some decent tea, something to soothe his discomfort.


    The train lurched, and rapidly began losing speed. Corvus frowned, they could not be at their destination this early, he had calculated at least another 10 hours. He looked out the window, seeing nothing but sand and a handful of mud colored shacks, a few shirtless children chasing each other in what appeared to be a game of some sort. A knock came on his door.


    ¡°Chief Advisor Corvus, we¡¯ve reached the end.¡± Corvus recognized the voice as one of his Imperial guards. He did not care for them, brutish thugs not much for conversation, but he was required to bring at least 2 with him during his travels.


    ¡°What do you mean, the end? We have certainly not reached Valtroy.¡±


    ¡°The end of the track.¡± The man paused, as if letting the information sink in. ¡°When you¡¯re ready, we¡¯ll leave on the next leg of our journey, we have the train staff loading the mechanical transport with your luggage. We have time, but please don¡¯t dawdle.¡± The man stopped speaking, but it was clear that he was still at the door, guarding Corvus from children and sheep herders. Corvus stood up, collecting the singular bag he had brought with him in his cabin, silently disgruntled by the inconvenience of the situation. The blatant oversight of the railway¡¯s incompletion, a project that should have been finished by now, but instead stopped short more than 300 miles from the territorial capital, was an inexcusable error.


    Corvus took a deep breath, counting back from 10. He ran a hand through his hair, and by the time he had opened his cabin door, he had regained his air of calm composure, wearing the sly smirk that he was known for throughout the empire. The 2 guards he had brought with him stepped aside, black armor clacking as they gave a short bow to the Chief Advisor.


    ¡°Sir.¡± Said the men in unison. Corvus regarded them with little interest, brushing past them as he wasted no time with pleasantries.


    ¡°Yes yes, as you were.¡± He kept one arm firmly behind his back, making sweeping gestures with his free hand. ¡°Now come, let us be off. I¡¯d much prefer to be in the capital before dark.¡± The guards hastily followed behind, trying to close the distance left by Corvus¡¯ haste. ¡°Now, I trust that there is a road for us to travel on? Lest we be at the mercy of the Southern sands.¡± They stepped down off the train, approaching the waiting transport that sat under the shade of the Imperial train station.¡°And do be sure that the transport is loaded with water. Geargandians may be exemplary engineers but they do not always take into account the subtle things that can kill a vehicle, such as overheating in a desert.¡± When the guards did not respond timely enough, Corvus turned, looking at the pair as one would look at a child. ¡°Do tell me if I¡¯m speaking too quickly for you.¡± He said, looking from one to the other. The taller guard stood a little straighter.


    ¡°Yes sir, The transport is topped off, and we have reserve water tanks loaded beneath the undercarriage.¡± Corvus flashed a curt smile, satisfied with the answer, and turned back around, continuing to the transport, the guards keeping pace behind him. ¡°As for our route, we¡¯ll be taking the Trade Road, it¡¯s the main thoroughfare in the territory, nice and wide, heads directly to Valtroy from here.¡± Corvus nodded, absorbing the information while at the same time appearing distracted, as though he was not listening. He ran a hand along the side of the large vehicle, composed of heavy iron plates, even the wheels were entirely made of strong metal, and so wide and tall it dwarfed everything around it, stretching to the second floor of the train station. He chuckled, it was certainly a military model, and fairly new by the looks of it.


    ¡°Yes, certainly a marvel of Geargandian engineering you are.¡± He said quietly, as though he were speaking to the transport. He looked over his shoulder at the guards. ¡°Very well, if there is nothing else, let us be on our way.¡± The guards gave another short bow.


    ¡°Yes sir.¡± one of them went and opened the door to the and Corvus stepped up into the vehicle, then they shut the door behind him, doing one last check around the vehicle before climbing into the driver¡¯s cabin. Once inside, Corvus immediately noted that the interior was far more spacious than was to be expected, and much nicer, with large cushioned seats and decorative fixtures, as well as a rug on the floor and a bucket on a table next to the seats with fruits, cheese, and wine. Even the walls were lined with wood, and everything inside was painted black and gold. This was clearly a vehicle converted for political transport. He ran his fingers over the table, playing on the edge of the apples and the wine.


    ¡°Melcanian pride.¡± He smirked. The transport sprung to life as the guards connected the crystal¡¯s power to the vehicle¡¯s engine, and Corvus sat down on the extravagant seat, more a couch than anything, and settled in for a long ride. Yet, if he could endure being stuck on a train for nearly a week¡¯s time, he could handle these conditions for an afternoon. He pulled his booklet out again, scribbling additional notes he had gathered with a pencil stick, ending them with Railway Incomplete??? Corvus looked at the note, and decided to circle it a couple times.


    ¡°Inexcusable.¡± He muttered, closing the booklet. The transport lurched forward, slowly building up speed until it was flying down the Trade Road at nearly 30 miles per hour. Corvus slid open the iron window next to his seat, looking out at the sands, paying little attention to the disgruntled cries of locals being forced out of the way by the monstrous vehicle. ¡°For his sake, he better have a good reason.¡±


    ¡­


    The afternoon sun poured through the open window of the small second story room General Kliin had converted into a study, bringing with it the Southern heat. It was a modest home of modest size, which suited him well, he had never been one for excessive living, which seemed all too prevalent in Melcanian society. The interior was clean to a military standard, well organized, and lightly decorated, honestly, he had not changed much in the home aside from clearing space for his study.


    Located in the upper district on the Southwest side of the city, it was conveniently located for logistics and strategy, exactly why he had chosen it. From here, he could easily coordinate troops through the North, South, and West gates of the city, and from there it was a simple matter of accessing the Trade Road. The campaign had been going remarkably well, villages and towns all over the territory searched, suspects apprehended, and, when felt necessary, resistance silenced and set ablaze. It should have pleased the old general, to see such effectiveness of the Imperial Army, and yet, Kliin stood at the window, frowning.


    Standing straight, rigid, his hands folded firmly behind him, as a commander addressing his men, gazing out at the sprawling city that smelled of fish. He had been on this campaign for the better part of 5 years,taking medicine women and blacksmiths, entire families rounded up like cattle for the empire to do with as they willed, he cared not. It was easy, and that was the problem, not the fire, not the loss of innocents, but rather the ease in which it was done. Kliin missed the war, the sounds and flashes of cannon fire and bombs, the firing lines, the armored charges, the aerial bombardments, the moans of the defeated drowned out by the cheers of victorious soldiers.


    Bringing Kgnaska to heel, marching over the sands with 100,000 men at his back, tearing down their castles and their safe places, burning their halls and their banners, now that had been a campaign worthy of him. His eyes moved to the hole in the North wall, remembering the battle in which he had brought it down, allowing his men to sack the city in an afternoon, and pull the teeth from a nation. He indulged himself a smile at the thought, but it quickly faded, his lined and aging face returning to the cold, humorless face of a man of war.


    ¡°Wall should have been the first thing repaired.¡± Kliin muttered under his breath. The wall was only the first of many problems plaguing the city, and the territory as a whole. Bakker had run the thing into the ground, squandering its resources and wasting the potential the Empire had seen in the land prior to its conquest. The man was an odious oaf, incapable of ruling, and Kliin had sent several letters to the Imperial court concerning this, though they had seen fit to ignore the territory altogether, a fact that frustrated him, the man who had captured the land through blood and steel. It was for this reason that he was pleased to be informed that Chief Advisor Petyr Corvus was coming to the city.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Kliin had met the foreigner on a number of occasions, usually at Council meetings if Kliin was not away on war, and he had always taken him to be an intelligent, calculated man, with little attraction to finery or his own self interest. Although the Geargandian was rather smug, a dislikable quality in any man. Still, the man had great authority in the Empire, and would prove a worthy ally in his desire to dig the territory out of the mud, even if he was a low born of foreign blood.


    ¡°Sir, Advisor Desmond is here for you.¡± Kliin broke from his thoughts, turning slightly to acknowledge the soldier.


    ¡°Very well, send him in.¡± The man left downstairs, armor clacking with his descent, and Kliin returned his gaze to the city. A few moments later he heard the soft, leisurely steps of a man not built for war nor labor.


    ¡°General Kliin.¡± Kliin did not turn to greet him at first, keeping his back to the man.


    ¡°Desmond.¡± He said evenly, wanting him to get on with it and go. Kliin did not care for the man, he never had, and it had nothing to do with his character, birth, nor social standing. No, Kliin detested this man, because he was weak. A frail child of a man, feigning confidence but ultimately timid in the face of conflict, he had seen low born recruits from farming families with bigger balls. He turned, facing Desmond, his face unamused. ¡°Well, what is it? I am a busy man, as you are well aware.¡± Desmond smiled warmly, as though they were friends, and gave a short bow to the general.


    ¡°Yes, I know you are rather occupied with your latest campaign, strategies, troop movements, and the like.¡± Kliin¡¯s eyes bore into the man, intense, unblinking, his face hard. However, if this unsettled Desmond, he did his best not to show it. ¡°Yet, I was hoping to be able to discuss Chief Advisor Corvus¡¯ visit with you.¡± He indicated the chair situated in front of Klinn¡¯s desk, a simple yet beautiful seat, with the smallest gesture of his hand. ¡°May I sit?¡± For a moment, Kliin was silent, staring at the man with that firm, unyielding look, and Almost immediately Desmond faltered, shuffling uncomfortably. Kliin gave a nearly imperceptible smirk, and moved to pull his own chair out from the desk.


    ¡°I suppose if you deem it truly necessary of my time.¡± He said, sitting down. When Desmond hesitated, he indicated the other chair. ¡°Sit.¡± Desmond did as he was told, sitting across from Klinn. ¡°Now, what about the Chief Advisor¡¯s visit warrants more of my attention? I am already aware of the¡­¡± He wrinkled his nose at the thought. ¡°Feast, that Bakker is holding at the castle.¡± He raised his eyebrows in mock bewilderment. ¡°And that it somehow warrants my attendance.¡± Desmond smiled again, chuckling at the general¡¯s blunt disinterest.


    ¡°Yes, the feast will certainly be a memorable occasion, however, Governor Bakker wanted me to discuss matters of security with you.¡± To this Kliin merely snorted.


    ¡°You have the guard, do you not? Men trained in the defense of nobility?¡± Desmond nodded, tilting his head to one side.


    ¡°Ah, yes, we do, but as I¡¯m sure you¡¯d agree, Imperial guards are little more than thugs, more suited to roughing up unarmed peasants than actual conflict.¡± Kliin could not dispute this fact, he had never had much regard for city guards, fat, lazy, timid when it came to real war. ¡°Governor Bakker was hoping that with the Chief Advisor¡¯s visit, you would spare a few of your men. Real soldiers that can give this city a much needed sense of Imperial strength.¡± Desmond reached into his cloak, pulling out a black and gold booklet, and retrieved a small, rectangular note from it. He looked at it momentarily, before handing it to Kliin.


    Kliin read over the request with cold, serious regard, his face betraying no signs of feeling or emotion one way or another. When he had finished, he simply set the note down on the desk, sitting straight, steepling his fingers as he stared into Desmond for what felt like an eternity. Desmond cleared his throat as though he might say something, but Kliin spoke first, as though he had been planning on cutting the man off.


    ¡°300 men?¡± He said, his voice calm and without feeling, indicating the paper with his finger. Kliin sighed, sitting back against his chair, frustrated with what he had to deal with at his age. When he did speak, it was with the authority of a general. ¡°There is no need for 300 members of the Imperial Army to stand on walls and street corners just so the Governor can feel like a king in front of the Chief Advisor.¡± Desmond opened his mouth in response, but Kliin silenced the man with a simple, halting gesture with his hand. ¡°However, in light of the occasion, I do agree, some added security is indeed needed if we are to be hosting a member of the Council.¡± Desmond smiled in relief, happy to be getting something.


    ¡°Good, good, excellent, how many men can we expect?¡±


    ¡°80.¡± At first Desmond looked at the man like he was joking, but Kliin¡¯s eyes were serious and uncompromising, and the advisor¡¯s smile quickly faded.


    ¡°Surely that is not enough to-¡±


    ¡°Between city and castle guards you have 800 men at your disposal, little more than lowborn peasants put in a suit of armor. Men of the Imperial army are trained for real war, not petty drunken rabbles, 80 will reinforce your forces better than an additional 200 guard, or 400, for that matter.¡± Kliin picked up a small bell off his desk, giving it a brief ring before setting it back in its place. ¡°I will give the order to have men sent the castle to be placed under your command for the duration of the visit.¡± The door opened behind Desmond, the Soldier from before standing at attention. Kliined leaned forward on his desk, clasping his hands together. ¡°Now, I have matters to attend to before the Chief Advisor¡¯s arrival, this man will see you out.¡± Desmond looked momentarily flustered, he did not like dealing with the general¡¯s dominating personality, but put his booklet away and stood up.


    ¡°General.¡± He said, bowing, before leaving the room. The door shut quietly behind them and Kliin was alone once more. He pulled the note closer to himself with his fingers, looking at it again.


    ¡°Hubris... hubris, greed, and moral lacking.¡± He scoffed, pushing it away.


    ¡­


    It was approaching the 7th evening hour when the Imperial transport rolled through the West gates of Valtroy, so large it was nearly too wide for the entry, gawking onlookers stunned with awe at the sight of it, many wondering amongst themselves as to who could be visiting the city. The monstrous vehicle came to the center of the main clearing, before coming to a stop, like some great beast lying down to rest. All around the clearing were more than 50 guards, standing straight, armor clean and freshly polished, keeping citizens back a fair distance for the transport¡¯s security. Atop the walls were no less than 30 additional men, but these were not the black and gold guards with polished steel, no, these were imperial soldiers in the intimidating all black that was known and feared throughout the world. Wielding flint rifles, the mere sight of them was enough to quell anyone¡¯s desire to incite anything. The rest of the forces were surely watching over other areas of the city, with the majority securing the castle for Chief Advisor¡¯s visit.


    In the middle of all this was Governor Bakker, with General Kliin and Desmond on either side of him, and 10 imperial soldiers flanking them. Desmond was in his usual advisory robe, black, but with the addition of a golden sash over his shoulder and around his waist. Kliin wore his dress uniform, black and gold, and so clean and straight it looked new. On his chest were more decorations and medals than would have been thought possible, making the uniform look heavy. Yet, if it bothered the old general, he did not show it, standing firm, resolute, a man who knew his purpose. However, the two paled in comparison, to Governor Gravis Bakker.


    The bloated man was dressed as an extravagant monarch, layered in rich and lavish garments of silk, satin, and velvet, black and gold, designed with images of mountain birds and flowers. On his fingers he wore many rings of gold and jewels, and around his neck there were golden chains and pendants. Atop his head sat a fashionable hat that appeared to be made out of small black feathers, probably from southern wood ravens, with the long black feather of a stone raven sticking out of the side, so much larger than the other feathers it was clear that the fearsome bird was king of the North, and why it was Melcania¡¯s symbol.


    But, despite all this excessive dress and decoration of the fat governor, nothing compared to his face. Painted in many colors, with blue and red and black around his eyes, and white on his cheeks, with golden accents, he appeared as a fool, ready to dance for the amusement of his lords. Kliin had given up looking at the man, disgusted by what he saw, and even Desmond was uncomfortable with gross excess of the man¡¯s dress. Bakker smiled proudly though, in his mind, he was in charge, in his mind, he was regal and divine. He was the supreme leader of this land, and nothing would convince him otherwise.


    2 soldiers exited the driver¡¯s cabin, coming along the side of the vehicle and pulling open the passenger door. All at once the crowd went silent, waiting in anticipation. The man who exited the vehicle was surprisingly normal looking, not the overly dressed, pompous noble they had been expecting. Just a man, with short chestnut hair, and simple black clothes, a doublet and breeches, with long boots, with the only real decoration being a dark green and silver sash around his waist and over his shoulder. Even Bakker seemed surprised by the man¡¯s lack of royal dress, yet Kliin and Desmond looked upon the Chief Advisor with varying levels of respect and admiration. However, the thing that took the crowd most off guard, was that this man was not a Melcanian, not a trueborn at least, and that in a clearing filled with guards and banners of black and gold, he wore the colors of a Geargandian.


    Corvus surveyed the clearing, taking note of everything he saw, remembering faces, counting guards, locating theoretical weak points in weak points in the city¡¯s defense, all in the moment he swept his gaze over the crowd. He regarded Kliin and Desmond with little interest, and then his eyes met Bakker, and his lips lifted in a wide smirk. He had been anticipating Melcanian excess, but this far exceeded his expectations, the man looked absolutely ludicrous. Corvus began walking the length of the clearing, his entourage following behind him, and the Governor and his people approached from the other end, stopping when they were about 10 feet apart. Kliin, Desmond, and even Bakker bowed for the Chief Advisor, Desmond bowing so low his nose nearly touched the cobblestones, and Corvus returned the social construct with a short, yet respectful bow, but kept his arms folded behind his back. Desmond, a little eager to speak, took a step forward.


    ¡°Chief Advisor Petyr Corvus, right hand of the High Emperor himself, might I say how honored we are to be graced by your visit.¡± He extended a hand out to the side, addressing Bakker. ¡°Allow me to introduce Governor Gravis Bakker, esteemed Imperial overseer of the Kgnaskan Territory, chosen of the High Emperor in the light of the Gods.¡± Bakker¡¯s ego did not need any help, but Desmond¡¯s words had the fat man on a whole new level of pride and self importance, standing like an emperor of the South. The man regarded Corvus with less than adequate respect, though it was unclear if it was due to the man¡¯s lack of fine dress, his foreign blood, or the threat of having a man who outranked him in his own self proclaimed kingdom.


    ¡°Petyr, as Governor, I am pleased to welcome you to the fine city of Valtroy, capital of the territory, our largest¡­ and most profitable, area of population.¡± Corvus¡¯ eyes flashed, but it went unnoticed, and he addressed the Governor with the smile of a friend.


    ¡°Yes, and what an exceptional city it is, Governor, the southern architecture is certainly a point of interest.¡± He gestured to the buildings surrounding the square, the white and tan bricks and red slate that made up nearly everything in the Upper District. ¡°Now, I¡¯ve had an exceptionally long journey, and would very much like to rest for the evening.¡± Bakker smiled broadly, making his face wrinkle and contort in strange and visually disturbing ways.


    ¡°Of course, Petyr, of course, we¡¯ve had a room prepared for your stay in the castle. Desmond will show you to it once we arrive.¡± As if on cue, Desmond stepped up.


    ¡°If you¡¯ll come this way, we have a carriage waiting.¡± They began walking to the back of the clearing to a black and gold carriage pulled by 4 black horses, escorted by a ring of soldiers. ¡°We have been anticipating your visit for some time, Chief Advisor, and have been working tirelessly in preparation.¡± Desmond smiled broadly, pleased with himself. Corvus retained his smirk, but his face was otherwise unreadable. ¡°Tomorrow we will show you the city, with the Winter season being upon us the heat shouldn¡¯t be too unbearable.¡± Corvus chuckled breathlessly at this remark, as if the Southern heat was ever bearable to Northerners, but Desmond did not seem to notice. ¡°And then we would be honored to host a feast in commemoration of your visit.¡± Corvus grimaced at this, never having liked events that celebrated waste and rich excess, but smiled again, keeping with societal expectations and formalities.


    ¡°Yes, yes, I¡¯m sure it will truly be a day worth remembering.¡± They climbed up in the carriage, waiting on Bakker, who, in his overindulgent dress, coupled with his immense size, required 4 men of the Imperial escort to help him up, nearly tipping the thing over. Once the man was situated, the carriage pulled away, heading at a humble pace through the streets and to the castle that could be seen in the distance. Desmond continued talking about the history of the territory and other facts that he must have thought were interesting, though Corvus was worn from his journey, and found the man¡¯s prattling rather droll. Bakker commented from time to time, laughing like a fool at his own presumed wit, and Kliin remained silent as the dead, a humorless man who was only staying at the castle for Corvus¡¯ visit. Corvus paid little attention to the words of simple men, and rather turned his gaze to the passing streets, analyzing the people, the buildings, the events happening in the city, big and small. He chuckled, taking note of what he saw. This would certainly be an interestingweek.