An Age of Crimson Crowns:

An Age of Crimson Crowns:

The Crimson King

Joshua J.R Middleton

Index

Foreword…..

Part I: Wind and Stone

Prologue………………………………………………..Page 1

Chapter 1……………………………………………..Page 3

Chapter 2……………………………………………..Page 12

*Prologue *

The winds blew higher than usual this winter. The windwood trees bending down and threatening to break. His brothers climbed from ten trees tonight trying to get the southern edge of the forest. The trees are much warmer. He followed his pack up until the cold air came rank with the smell of man. His ears opened, hearing swords honing upon rocks and worse the cutting down of trees.

Curious, he strayed from his brothers and sisters, knowing it would mean certain death. He glided to a tree just for safety, for in the day, the eyes of men are a dangerous thing for any unwary creature. He saw a man aim a bow and arrow at a tree. The squirrel peaked closer to see if that was him. The arrow shot, yet it was not him. The arrow’s so strong that the brother beside him flew downwards at a tree and was stamped there with an arrow between his eyes. Fear came about him. His climbs turned to leaps as more arrows flew by him.

He glided to the next tree, clung and darted from one branch to another one not to far from it on the other side. He hid in a hole in the tree. Warmth blanketed his fur like the snow did the earth. When the morning came he looked about the forest to search for his brothers and sister. He even resorted to following the last trail they were on. No luck.

Yet the smell of man lingered and their trail seemed to be going nowhere. He followed it Darting from across the forest. He had to remain to the trees to stay on the trail, for the snow would bury them.

As their trail went further the forest was depleting. He was going outside of the forest, where there were no trees to glide upon. Fear came about him as sharp as the cold. Their trail led up to a frozen river which was below a mountain range. He swam through and lost their scent yet, not their trail. Since there were no trees further down he was forced to burrow beneath the snow and frozen earth. He went on for what felt like miles. The further he went the colder and harder the snow got. Further from the main path it was only solid ice. No way of getting through. 

He had no choice for if he stayed he would freeze to death. Surfacing from the snow, the air seemed enough to freeze his very soul. His hide prickled and stiffened as ice formed on the new pointed tips of it. A ray of blue light was hitting him in the face and a woman was trapped in there. 

 Her face was gaunt to the bone, her skin mummified from being trapped in a sphere of ice for what seemed like a very long time. Possibly thousands of years before or after the Prime Men invaded Prymeryon. Her hair was gray, yet fair and braided from the left side. When she opened her eyes everything went black and white and clear again. 

Looking at a puddle, it was not a squirrel but a little girl with pale blond hair. In front of her was a pillar-shaped stone with ancient runes and circled marks glowing bright blue. Bits of ash landed softly on her blond hair. A cloud of smoke came wafting through the forest as she looks to her left. A wall of fire came roaring like a hungry beast consuming the forest  from tree to tree. She sprinted through the forest as fast as she could. Trying her best to outrun the flames that chased her. When she made it out of the woods a castle stood in front of her. A tower was burning and collapsed from inside of the castle. A tree behind her had the roots unhinged from the soil. Before she could react the tree came down on her. 

*Darreon*

The neighing of a horse heralded through the Tourney grounds. Plates of steel from head to toe clanged and crunched as it slammed against the sand kicking it in mid air. A man was roaring at the crowd with voice deep and loud as thunder. donned in jet-black armor with a streak of crimson. His surcoat was five phaedrons painted crimson the same as what Darreon wore. 

His hair pure red and long. His jaw square with a cruel look on his face. The man stared at Darreon, pointed his sword menacingly at him and bowed his head. He scoffed after his bow, letting Darreon know how little he thought of him. As though he were a better man than Darreon. Perhaps a better king. Darreon only smirked at him and looked at the man strapping his armor on him. “Your  son's arrogance never fails to show itself.” 

“I do my best. Maekhar's pride serves him well in most fights.” Said the king's brother. He was taller than Darreon. his hair long and red with orange strips running on both sides of his scalp. Same as his. He was bigger where Darreon  was slim. A brute in a swordfight where as Darreon was graceful and was more  dour and melancholic whereas Darreon was upbeat and charismatic. The gates creaked open. 

Darreon mounted an old grey mare. It's gallop much slower compared to the black stallion that his opponent used . He urged his horse to the right side of the wooden barrier.

The trumpets were blown. Maekhar was the first to ride and hard too. However, the king galloped slowly. waiting for Maekhar to get closer. Darreon tilted his head and bent to his side, holding his lance just enough to rip through the mail under his arms. Maehkar clutched his neck as he fell from his horse. Covered in dirt, the king rose. His knees and elbows aching after a hard impact on the ground. As he rose, the crowd cheered. In the midst of that a sharp, stinging pain had him betray a hard wince. 

His fingers touched his ribs. He looked down and saw a wound stretching from his upper waist up to his nipple. A wariness came to him with the heat. He knelt in fatigue. The cheering of the crowd began to fade until the only thing he could hear was his tired breaths.  Someone took his arms and put it over their shoulder. The king had no idea who it was till he was lifted up. He saw that it was his brother Phaeus. 

“Your Benevolence,” he said. His voice distorted. “Speak to me, brother.” His vision blurred and went black. 

When he woke up he found himself in what appeared to be the Lord's Chambers. He winced as he was poised to rise. “not to fast brother.”

“my...my wounds, they weren't too severe. How did I…

...It doesn't matter.” Phaeus cut him off right there. Quick as a dagger strike. “You're awake my king and you have guests to attend to.” Phaeus snapped his fingers to urge the guards to come and aid him up. He heard riled voices brimming with impatience. A common trait of nobility. Some whispering whilst others speak more loudly. All the while he could not make out the words spoken in such a sea of flesh and fashioned cloth. 

If it were Lord Richard they would've waited without uttering a word. Darreon looked to his brother. Why did you give me this burden brother. You were the eldest after Vhaegon. Looking at his brother. He could guess what he'd say. “it was an honor I did not deserve. And a burden I had no back to carry.” 

The hall was silent when Darreon arrived. Silence faded  “Honored friends and scornful lords.” they look at me as though I killed their wives. “let us drink and feast to a prosperous rule. Twenty years ago, this land was ruled by a vile king. This land stained with the blood of fathers, with the blood of sons. Women and children were raped and murdered as well by the thousands. Yet if it wasn't for the blood shed and brutality I would not have had this crown. A shame I bare deeply.” darreon's face sunk deep into the shadow of corners in this halls. The lights from the candles hindered the shadows. “i'm...i'm sorry.” He held the table before almost falling to his knees. Gaining his footing he felt eyes staring at him. Peering like daggers in search for weakness. 

He could not afford to betray his weakness. Even now when thousands gaze upon him as though he is to be more than just a mere man. Phaeus tried to help him. Darreon denied him that honor, out of pride.  “Yet it is an honor to serve the realm for as long as I have and from the bottom of my heart I thank you all for allowing me to.” darreon raised his cup and the crowd followed. 

The feast began. Maidens and wenches were serving Bounty of the Middlelands a wine Darreon was most accustomed to. It was one of his favorites. There was not much favorites that the king had. Unlike his brother when it came to his children. Aereon was flirting with five other wenches down by the table. One of them left, scolding the prince. Must have been something he said. Quite the charmer with Aereon as usual. Maekhar walked up to Richard as he was enjoying his drink. Maekhar whispered something in Richard's ear. Richard shooed him off. Out of spite, Maekhar leaned in and spit on Richard's face. Richard got up,jerked him by his collar and shoved him off. 

 Phaeus was sitting at the side from Darreon drinking his wine with a longing gaze. One that speaks of guilt and pain. Phaeus would always give his brother a smile as though Darreon were a relief to that pain. Little did he know. Darreon exchanged a smile but deep down only felt pity for him. It would feel like Phaeus is not only prolonging the inevitable but turning a blind eye to it as well. Anytime Darreon would want to have the conversation about what was brewing in his head he knew how Phaeus would take it. He was always the sensitive sort of man. More tears than ideas at times. 

Yet now it is more important than ever. “We need to talk.” Darreon said. He coughed afterwards. 

“the feast just began, my king. It would be...”

“… the feast can continue without me, brother.” phaeus shook his head at him , confused and irritated. Darreon urged the guards to stay where they were. Him and Phaeus excused themselves from the feast to speak alone in the hallways. Phaeus took a handful of Darreon's collar.

“Now what kind of talk are we having here” as if he didn't know. 

His royal fingers ran from behind to the head of his crown. Plucking it off he held it abreast. From that image of seeing his head bereft of his crown made Phaeus scowl and grimace. “Put that back on your head.”

“Phaeus listen to…

...Now,” 

Darreon slapped him across the face. “You do not command me, brother.”

“And you know why. Because you wear the crown. You have that honor. You bear the burden.”

“And for how long?”

Phaeus growled at that. Poising himself to walk away seething. Yet he stayed. “You've been avoiding this question for years Phaeus.”

“And for good reason. We cross that bridge when we get there. You have plenty of things to worry about other than who's head that wretched crown will fall upon.” 

“It won't just fall upon someone’s head, brother.”

Phaeus gave him a look, intrigued. “What do you mean?” 

“I choose you, Phaeus. I would choose your sons but none of them have proven worthy.” 

“And you think I am? After what I did.”

“You saved the realm.” Darreon said in honor of his deed.

“I killed my own brother” 

“After he…

“...i know what he did, I know who he was. No different than any of the kings who came before us. What did you think was to come six hundred years after their conquest. No good came of it.” 

Darreon face seemed to go pale when Phaeus said that. Like a child who had a rock thrown at his face. “Father was good. Our sister was good. I was good, or at least...at least I think I am.”

“You are. You are good. I'm sorry.” 

“No need to be sorry brother, be smart. Check your feelings, check your sayings. That was always your problems.” said Darreon. “ I'll make this simple for you. Either you become king when I die or i'll pass it on to your sons who you can barely trust. The choice is yours.” 

“Well then, brother. Don't die and none of us will have to make that choice. Simple.” Phaeus turned his back on Darreon. A cold shoulder in tow. 

Once Phaeus was gone completely, Darreon began to cough violently. With his brother not there to aid him, served to worsen it. Three more coughs after, he looked at his hand and saw drops of blood on his hand and he continued to cough. 

*Marwen*

The serenity of the forest surrounded them as the mist did about them.  The solemn trees groaned and croaked through the darkness as their boots pressed against the cold soil beneath them. Leaves covered the ground laying softly before the wind scoops them up. Above them the sunlight began to dim as the rays beamed down the forest to feed the leaves. 

The horses neighed as a scrawny, grey scholar  named Melvin whose face resembled that of an owl was urging it forward. Its hooves having to step onto sodden trunks and roots wet with the small water particles it was drinking from the mist. The horse was carrying purses of gold sewn from northern linen that were making a chinging sound with every quake of the saddle; along with shields, longswords, crossbows, arrows and bolts. The gold was in case they came across any bandits or cutthroats. Before they came out to the Windwoods Marwen asked his lord Edward why they needed to bring gold when they had enough men and arms to defend themselves. “We need our men to guard the wall boy,” he told Marwen. A stern gaze on his face that made him appear as though he towered over Marwen. Which he did. 

Lord Edward was a tall man with cloud gray eyes hair black mingled with grey. His scowl was permanent, with near pale skin standing windburned. Twin gray braids met at the back of his hair to make a tail. He was a stern man, in his early fifties. Almost as cold as the northern winds. “Torren, go with your brother. Run back here at the first sign of trouble. No heroics. Understand.”

“yes father.” 

Tobyn mocked his elder brother and took a punch in the shoulder for  it. Tobyn smirked at him, disregarding his brother. “you know i'll find  bigger game than you, brother.”

“We'll see.” 

“We will. And you'll be lucky if you can get a rabbit.”. moonlight gleamed through the colored leaves, feeding the moss-covered forest that has stood longer than the castle of Windreach. They were seven miles into the forest. The night was colder than the day. Frost covered the ground that was sprinkled with colored leaves. 

“Marwen, come and sleep here.”

“Shouldn't we head back to the castle mi'lord.”

“Without my sons and my daughter. How are they to know where to rendezvous. And our food growing low as the winter approaches. ” 

“Sorry mi'lord…

“it's fine. You were concerned for my safety as you should boy.” Lord edward said, understandingly. Yet he still bore a brooding look. “Now rest. We'll search for them in the morning. And so he did. 

In his dreams a boy with eyes glowing blue would wail to the air. Inside the blue of his eyes was came a battle, then a man dying in his arms. His last vision was of himself on his knees. His skin covered in blood, frostbitten and wounded by a frozen shore. Curiosity woke him up. His eyes were set upon by blue eyes but not from a child. The eyes were smaller. The body of the figure looked to be standing, sporting a monstrous nine foot. When it roared was when Marwen knew what it was. A bear. The large figure then landed back on its four feet. Instead of charging at what is easy prey the bear approached Marwen. 

Marwen reached his hand out to the beast and before it got to its nose a bolt was fired. The bolt struck the bear in the neck. The bear roars  and fights. Marwen falls to the tree, fleeing from its might. Lord edward shoots it again in the glowing eye. The eye was still glowing and no blood spilled from it yet the bear bellowed in pain and instead of attacking Edward, it retreated into the darkness of the ancient woods . “it was trying to speak to me.”

“i'm sure it was boy,” a grim look still residing on Edward's face. “Now he's finished.”

“it didn't attack.”

“Well it should've. Come boy, we have to find my sons before they lose themselves in these woods. The young are always the ones to lack weariness.” 

“Sometimes the old do too mi'lord.” 

Edward chuckled. “you're sharp, my young squire. Gather the men. The horses too. Everything must be close at hand as we delve further in the trees.”

After a “yes mi'lord” he exactly so. Three more miles in they were by a small stream that led to the First spear. An earthen dyke was below the hill road they were walking upon. When they got to the bottom of the hill the ground was more sodden. Edward had his men split into groups with hunting dogs at their heels. “Do you want a dog, boy.”

“no mi'lord. Uncle Stellyn taught me how to track when I was nine.” he was also bit by a dog one time when Torren played a prank on him that terribly wrong. Torren let loose a great black bitch with a bad temper. She was with children at the time which may have explained her mood. She bit marwen's leg and was wrangling at it as she was moving her head violently. Edward pried her off and kicked it away. Torren came to his father looking confused and guilty. His father slapped him regardless. 

Marwen could still feel the bite on his left leg. He crossed the stream. Only a couple feet in the woods and an arm was around his neck. “i had a feeling it would be you who would find us.” Marwen elbowed the man. He spun as he loosened from the grasp and saw that it was Torren. Tobyn right behind him. 

“Count yourself fortunate that I wasn't a cutthroat”  

“Oh I will.” tobyn said with glee. “Now where is our lord father.”

“On the other side of the stream.” answered the squire. “What game did you catch?”

Tobyn sucked his teeth. “Squirrels. All of the good game must've fled to the northwest near Brynnhold.” 

“or to the south, where it's warm.” Torren added. They crossed the stream, stepping through slickened, round rocks on there way. Tobyn nearly tripped when they got to the bank of the stream. Their lord father awaited them at hilly road along with his men. His face bore a scowl. His fists tightened about his greatsword Wind . “We know you're old father but you could at least try not to use your servants to track us. You won't have them forever.” Tobyn remarked. 

“right you are Tobyn, and neither will you. When they are gone then you might learn to tread these woods carefully.” Edward spoke darkly.  Putting a touch of fear in his son's heart. Tobyn remained silent after that. “the game here is dry it appears from looking at your string of squirrels. While you wandered off did you happen to find your brother and sister?” 

“father if we had them, don't you think that we would've presented them to you first thing?” Said Tobyn.

“i think you that you should hold your tongue, boy and that you should not wander too far off next time. Head back to the castle. We'll send a search party at first light.” 

*Samantha*

step for step young Samantha and her younger brother Justin strode through the ancient woods. Care and caution in the wind like the leaves. Even though justin was a better runner than her she still managed to stay behind him. Her and justin climbed tree after tree. Leaping from the trees to the ground and back to the trees again. 

“you know i'm faster.” Justin spoke with confindence. 

“That's because you're smaller, little brother.” She teased. 

“I am not.”

Samatha only stuck her tongue out at him. He copied her and threw an acorn at her. They both giggled and continued sprinting through the forest. Up ahead came hilled roads, more leaves and frost-bitten earth, and a great deal of streams. 

Their laughter was as abundant as the crinkled leaves, fallen acorns, groaning old spruces, firs and willows that posed as ancient sentries of this cold, dreary and grey land. Yet it was the first land men settled upon and they were proud to be apart of one of oldest families to shepherd the Northlands. More happy to frolick upon as the fawns, bear, wolves, and tiger cubs do. 

One hour both of them climbed a tree up to the highest branch so that they could feel the wind on their cheeks, caressing their skin softer than the wool garbs and dresses they where. Softer than the blankets they sleep under. To the north they saw Windreach, to the south they saw the Windwood inn. “if this tree was bigger, we'd be able to see the whole world.” Samantha said. Her eyes engulfed in the black of her pupil.

“the...world.”

“Yes justin the world? The castles and cities, the landscape and forests. Most forests are probably much smaller.”

“H...how do you know that?”

“From Melvin, silly.” 

“Well, I know that.” Samantha put him under her arm and knuckled his hair. A crow flew by and landed on a branch. It looked at them for a few minutes, cawed at them and flew away. 

“we're so far up, I would like to see from the bottom. I would like to fly.”

“me too, little brother. Yet we lack a pair of wings.”

“well, what if we don't need wings?” 

“wait...hold on, Justin what do you…

He jumped off of the branch. “JUSTIN,” She screamed in fear. Her hands on her mouth in shock of what happened. She did not know what to do. She was really high up and it was a long way down. Hopefully a branch broke his fall. Maybe cracked a rib or two. He breathing grew heavier. Her hands shaking violently as the tears went down on her pale face, reddening. 

I will find you brother, please be okay. She prayed to herself before she jumped off the tree herself. 

*Marwen*

Above the castle walls the clouds brought hard rain upon Windreach. their boots made tracks of small puddles as they made their way through the townhouses,apartments, taverns and markets. The people who were retreating to their homes had to sacrifice a good ten minutes they could have drying off to make way for their lord and his highest servants. 

When they made it to the Windwhisper Keep the guards cracked the gates. Down he hall they went to the bathing rooms to wash off the stench of rain and trudging through  the woods. Especially lord edward, for a southron woman such as Lady Bethany wouldn't take it kindly if her northern husband smelled like a unwashed barbarian. Marwen, tobyn and Torren were in the same bathing rooms whereas Lord Edward was in a room to himself. A cold and lonely man at times when amongst his wife and children but when he is around his men he is tad more outspoken than usual “I swear the war never leaves our father,” Tobyn said. “something tells me swords are clanging in his head the minute he closes his eyes. Like the tune of a bard singing a terrible song.” 

“dont you feel that anytime your arse hits the dirt in practice,” Torren shot back “imagine what a battle would have you doing in your sleep.” 

“the Elder gods take me if i'm eating dirt in my dreams.” they all laughed. “especially due to how cold it's turned. Even the crops the farmers want to plant can agree with me.” 

“Hell, Marwen can agree with me.” Tobyn had his palm extending flat as though he were giving a silver platter. 

“I'm a peasant moron, not a farmer.”

“Apologies, my dear squire. Paesants, farmers, lords kings. To be honest what's the difference, we all serve something. And whenever the gods are done toying with us then the put us in the dirt.”

“Or feed us to the crows.” Added Torren.

“Hey brother, don't talk about father's dreams.” 

“They're called nightmares brother.”

“I thought for most soldiers being amongst their families is considered a nightmare.” Came Tobyn with another jest.

“There's a simplicity in war that you'll come to understand when you're fighting side by side with your brother.” his hand flapped the curtain wide to the left. His prescence as cold as the northern winds. Enough to freeze the humidity that floated through the chambers. He might as well be some ancient wrathful creature that was frozen in ice and rudely awakened. If so the blame would fall to Tobyn for his loud  and ill-cautioned japes. “In war, you know your friends and know your enemies. You know what lies ahead, what to expect. The one thing you don't know is if you'll live or die, if you'll ever see your loved ones again. Now as I return to normal life, my enemies are at a distance. It becomes harder for a man to know who to trust. Now I have to protect a whole kingdom and other kingdoms if called upon.”

“So while you sit there and jest, just know that your time to fight through the storm will come. And your storm will be one that we haven't seen in thousands of years.” 

all of them took a moment to let Lord Edward's words sink. “well father. You do know how to bring about a sense of foreboding” Said tobyn, nonplussed. “Well, off we trot. Fun's over.” 

“Marwen” Lord edward called upon him. “when you get dressed meet me in the Great Hall.”

“Yes mi'lord.” they had their clothes hung up on the outside to avoid them getting musty. 

At the hall Lord Edward sat on the steps of the hall instead of the Grey Throne, honing his sword, Wind.   

The hall was dark, grey and dour. Wind seeped through stone so much that Marwen could hear the song it sang. “i summoned you here to answer an important question.”

 He caressed the ancient stone and pondered at the line of kings that sat here before him. “What does it mean to be King? To rule and serve those who depend on you. Am I ready to take on this role? If every King asked themselves this question then there’s no imagining how many lives would’ve been saved.” 

“Am I to become king, mi'lord.” Marwen made a snide remark. Edward chuckled in return. 

“For all I know you may my boy.” he told him. “In this world there's more to a man that meets the eye. You'd be surprised to learn how many bastard boys your age or younger sport a bit of royal blood in their veins.” 

Marwen thought about that for a moment. “People still die, my lord. We’re men and men die no matter who sits on the throne. What difference does it make?” Marwen said.

”That is true, we all must die sometime,” Lord Edward agreed. “That is the will of the gods but first we must live my lad. Tell me, would you rather live your years out in peace, happiness and harmony or fear, suffering and despair living under the shadow of an unjust tyrant.” 

That was a question he answered in his own head. “there was a message from Crown's Harbor,” 

“what's it say”

“It says that Lord Richard will visit us. They're a four days ride away from us.” 

the neck from the intuitive squire tilted to the right of his shoulder. A breath exchanged in lieu of Marwen's lack of surprise. “it seems like we better prepare a feast. You know he'll want to eat half the larders. It's like he could care less about the coming winter.” 

Winter in Prymeryon comes seasonally. In the Northlands the winters are harsher than their southron overlords. In the ancient times, snows would fall a hundred feet deep. If the castles were not properly warmed the citizens and kings would freeze to death in their castles. Nowadays the winters were a shadow of what they once were which Branch Greywind and all other northern Branches can be thankful. 

“I have something for you.” Edward told him. He took a sword that lied on the left side of his swordbelt. Unsheathing it, a sheen ran across the newly forged blade as it mirrored half of Marwen's face. The sword was marked with runes similar to Wind. “Save your gratitude. Your service to me and my family is cherished by all. I want you to know that. Now get some rest, we must look for my youngest son and Daughter. I want them returned to me by my household guard, not a cutthroat.” 

“Yes mi'lord. Marwen took his leave from the Keep to return to the tavern he slept under. 

Marwen inserted the sword into its scabbard, with a chape of gilded steel and runes and embroidered with calligraphic lines. He exits his room to face a cool touch of the outside winds. Moonlight reflected upon the fountain at the town square. On the courtyard a blanket of snow lay upon the cobblestone streets. He stood on the balcony to look at the falling flakes. Making his way down the wooden steps a woman approached him. A hag she was, with a nose flat as a shield, brown eyes and withering hair. “what do want you old hag?” the butt of her broom cracked so hard on his nose, his head cocked back.

“Don't get all lordly on me, boy.” Her voice was as shrill as a screeching crow. “you got rat shit to clean up.”

“Why me?” Marwen shrugged his shoulders, sullenly. 

“Because I said so.” She said after spiting on Marwen’s shoes. Marwen looked down and up in disgust. “Are you deaf in the fucking ear boy? Get to work.” When he marched down she gave him a smack on the back side of his head with that broom of her. I swear I wish I could break that thing in half. In the brewery he went. Lucky for him he was already wearing leather gloves although he did not intend to use them for picking up rat droppings. Sweeping it all up, he scooped them in a dust pan and threw the waste in a trash barrel stuffed of hay. 

That woman was always cruel to Marwen, ever since he moved in when he was nine years old. His mother died along with his little brother and sister and after that he never set foot in that house again. To this day he remembers the blood that poured from their mouths and how helpless he was to make it stop. Now here he sits, in an attic atop his aunt’s tavern in Wind Town.

Every sweep of the broom or clatter of a flagon and drunkard cheer dwarfed the minute his eyes were closed. A man screamed as a sword tore through his neck and collar bone. Many more men were heard dying across the field. A horse came racing at him with a lance. A sword was in his hand. Before he could swing it the horse rammed into him and everything was black. When his eyes opened again he saw the bear in the forest again. He moved to approach Marwen once more, this time having no one in tow to launch a bolt in it's shoulder. 

“We will return the boy to you and your lord, only if your do one thing.” 

“who is “We”?” 

the blue eyes narrowed at that question. “if you want to know more, you must go to the east, to Autumnfall after your father dies. Promise us that and we'll let him go.” 

“and if I don't.” He asked the bear.

“Then we'll tear into his flesh and haunt the forest for as long as that wretched pile of stone stands. Make your choice, Ysingyr, Serpent of the North. The hour is late.”

the squire's head cocked back as he felt something slapped his across the face and he woke up. “Marwen, are you alright?”

“i'm...i'm fine. Saman….SAMANTHA.” he jolted from his bed, sweat dripping from his lips. In a turn of her head Marwen had her arm in his grasp, clutching her in disbelief. 

“let go of my arm.”

“where have you been, you would've had half the guard out in those woods looking for you. Are you mad?”

Samantha slapped him for that. She then wrenched her arm free and whipped her shoulders out like she was trying to say “don't touch me” instead she exchanged a cold and sullen look. 

“you go see your mother tomorrow, do you understand?”

“I was trying to find justin he was….

...Do you understand?”

she stomped her feet and had her hands folded into her chest. “the crow, it's eyes were glowing too. Just like yours. In case your curios.” 

Marwen's curiosity compelled him indeed. “wait my eyes were glowing?”

her head wriggled like that of a worm in a sassy tone, “well, I have to go see my mother, remember. An angered glance  was what she left him with. More questions in tow. 

The next morning he entered the gates and walked up the battlements to view the field and forest from above. The southern winds touched his face as soft as a silk fabric. Chirping from birds that were seven or more miles in the Windwood seemed to weaken the sounds from armored feet clanging against the andesite brick tiles. Ysingyr, Ysingyr, The voice called from his dream. Chills ran down his spine when he heard that voice again. Shall I remind you of my bargain, his fear sings to my teeth. 

We're waiting for you, outside of the gates. “Marwen,”

“Uncle,” the embraced one another, the last time was weeks ago in the Elkhorn Tavern. “i heard Justin got lost in the forest. Has lord edward received any ransom letters.”

no but I did, He wanted to say. “no uncle Stellyn. Have you had any dreams?”

“What kind of dreams, lad?”

“Just any like, would you see someone's eyes glow blue?”

“well...i did see something in the woods with glowing eyes. It looked to be…

...a bear.” Marwen had his fingers cresting on the tip of his chin with a puzzled face. Thinking hard about it, he still couldn't put the pieces together. What he did know was where he needed to be at this hour. “Where is Lord Edward?”

“Outside the castle. Hopefully he'll have the answers you seek.” 

That was oddly convenient for him. So convenient that it had him giddy enough to rush off the battlements in a frenzied rush, walking as though his Lord has summoned him instead of some creature in the woods. A lever was attached  to the right corner of the gate. The guard next to it oiled the lever before pulling by a great steel tip. Outside of the gate was a bridge with a great moat almost the size of the southern part of the First Spear. Probably the best defense of the castle since it traverses through entire middle ring of it. 

Once the front gates were raised Marwen approached Lord Edward. “mi'lord...i

Edward thumped his fingers on Marwen's chest. Taken aback, Marwen opens the letter. “The king is…

“...fallen ill. And Richard arriving to escort me to Crown's Harbor at the same time.”

“Sounds like a heightening of your station?” 

“Or a heightening of your own.” he replied, surprising Marwen even more. “You will serve as my Captain-of the-Guard” 

“Why...why me, you could've chosen my uncle, or your sons, or…

“Stellyn will be manning the castle while i'm gone and as for my sons, I plan to have Torren stay here to protect his mother, brother and sister.”

“A wise move, but they're quite thick” 

“As theives, I know boy. But I won't leave my family unprotected. Not while wolves prowl in these woods.”

Torren slammed Tobyn to the ground, locking Tobyn's arm with his bulky elbow. In exchange tobyn's elbow crashed against Torren's face, breaking his nose. That only served to provoke Torren. His long, lanky legs wrapped around Tobyn's neck. Had his spitting and hissing a bloody storm. “Bloody fucking unfair.” 

“unfair, huh?” Torren kicked him in the jaw. Tobyn let out a pained growl and kept jabbing Torren's leg with his elbow. Eventually he tapped out since he seemed to be short of breath. 

On the outskirts of the forest came a familiar sight. The beast was larger than what Marwen remembered. Nearly a giant, sporting a good nine feet or larger. The fur on its hide was black as night which explained how why it was so hard for Marwen to make out its shape save for the blue markings on his eyes, jaw, ears, chest, belly and hind quarters. Runes were carved into its flesh and it had a saddle crafted of wood and sticks on its back. 

A woman sat upon the saddle, slim and beautiful. Her hair was jet black wearing a leaf, crafted cuirass. That's not thick enough to deflect an arrow. Marwen thought. This time Marwen approached the bear, straying away from his lord's supervision. Armored footsteps clanged in tow. He walked as though something ethereal was drawing him, seducing him. A voice did not sound on his head, not yet. Whether it was the woman, the glowing bear, or his own intuition; he had to get to the bottom of it.

A cold, armored hand clutched his shoulder. In response, the squire turned to see his lord tower over him. A shaded side of his scowl hidden by the sun. a growl uttered between the tall grasses of the field. Nostrils flared, sniffing at the dirt. Sharp, ragged teeth crunched a chunk of the dirt gathering the worms that were burrowed under. The bear's feet seemed to quake the earth as it neared them. Its monstrous figure revealing itself from the spear long grass that stretched for miles. Edward moved to rip out his sword. In exchange the beast barred his ragged teeth.

The woman's hand was enough to calm the beast. Its jaw shut save for a bit of slaver from its scarred lips. The wooden claws on the corners of the saddles blossomed like a flower and lowered like drawbridges, easing her downward steps. In a wicker-sewn pouch at her back she had a boy with hair grayish black as Lord Edward's, small and lean. Justin, Marwen knew. He ran immediately to Marwen. Marwen passed him on to his father. “behind me boy.” He told him. Torren and Tobyn arrived shortly after. Forty men in tow. Few of them had a crossbow or two for ranged support. 

“Your sword,” she gazed at Wind in a calm abhorrence. “'Your ancestors had no right to claim the stones.”

“And you have no right to abduct my son.” Edward said in a tone as cold as his sword. 

“I needed him,”

“What was your business with an heir of Windreach, witch.” asked Marwen.

“To point you in the right direction. For you are lost windbearer.”  

“He seems to be right where he needs to be,” said Tobyn, with a touch of wit. “You on the other hand have a great deal of explaining to do and riddles will not help you so I'd advise you to speak in plain tongue.” 

“Or get lost yourself, witch. Do us all favor and never return.” added Torren. 

“I have lived for many years, seen this land torn by war, greed, lust, and deceit. To be free from it is something I do not mind. Yet it shall not be in vain.” she caressed the bears face and whispered in its ear. The bear then retreated to the woods leaving her at the mercy of Lord edward and forty other men. “The winds you fear Northern lord are rising. North, south east and west. They will come with a moon of blood, a king of crimson, a crown of iron, fallen swords, the throne of a dragon, the roar of a lion, and a wrath of their own.”

“Go to Autumnfall, Ysingyr. I beg of you. You will find the answers to your questions.” she went to her knees. “as for you Wind lord, beware. the days of your reign are now numbered.” 

“Take her away.” Lord Edward commanded. The guards bound her as they picked her up and they rode for the castle. 

*Bethany*

The darkness that crept at the depths beneath her bed could not hide the chipped nails and strands of honey blond hair that lay strewn across the dark gray wool carpet. Only the wind was there to rest beside her in the night. Only the cold. A lonely three days it was. 

Before her husband left they had a falling out. Bethany felt that there was no need to take Justin and Samantha out to the Windwood. Edward turned his head around in the same gnarly fashion that never fails to send chills down her spine. “Then what would you have me do, nestle them by the fire. Tell them children stories for the rest of their lives.” Edward's voice began to raise. He walked to her, towering over her as he held her by both elbows. “If they are to rule then they need to know the land around them, the soldiers, the farmers, cooks, charwomen, chambermaids, and so on. They need to know the castle as well. Every secret entrance, every crenel and tower.” 

“Then have them walk about the castle. Keep them inside. They may have to rule but for now they're children Ed, and nothing more.”

“There is more to the Northlands than just this castle. In those woods are old keeps and strongholds that go for miles.” 

“And what? Is there a battle commencing there this instant?” she asked, frustration welling in her voice. “My sweet husband, face it. The war is over. Lay down this edge you've carried for years.”

Edward took her hand and moved it to warm his chest. “Mi'lady, you should count how many times those same words were proven false. The war...is just beginning.” he handed her a letter before taking his leave. She tore the seal off to open it. 

King Darreon, Rightful ruler of the Aerynthians, the Prime men and the Phaeynar has fallen ill during his return to Crown's Harbor. By issue of the royal court, Richard Canntheron; former lord of Wrathaven and current lord of Lemonriver Keep is sent as an envoy to retrieve Edward Greywind, Lord of Windreach and Herald of the Northlands. Along with many lords loyal to Lord Richard during and after the War of the Vile King.

Feasts and preparations are expected upon Lord Richard's arrival and if not delivered during so will be taken as a slight against his person, sullying the diplomatic ties to the Kinglands and Wrathmarch. 

She put on a ring of ancient Avyrrian gold. It was given to her by King Darreon during his royal visit to Windreach fifteen years. After that she was pregnant with Ryarra, her bastard daughter. She wondered where she was, what she was doing. It was heard that she became a handmaiden for the Lychesters. Proud, rich and pompous that lot was. Most families bear hatred for the Lychesters. 

Pain shot up her back. She winced as she touched against it. Most times she tried to get out of bed the pain would be too great. Edward would have her take  whitefly Nectar yet would only to serve to make her sleepy. She took very long naps as well. Most times she does not want to wake up at all and when she does she would have long baths as well. She would scrub hard as if she were trying to tear her own skin off. Edward would catch her crying in the bath. He would hold her and take her to the bed. 

She woke up within the light of the moon as someone was knocking on her door curling stiffly as if her hips were made of stone. At her age they might well be. “i told you all a hundred times that I wish not to be disturbed.”

“Apologies, mi'lady. It's your daughter. 

“Mother.” A small voiced called her name. Her daughter stood behind the door frame.

“child, where have you been.” 

“Justin,…i was trying to find him? ” Samantha's eyes were watered with tears. “we were on top of a tree…a...a crow came near us and flew away.

“-Gods, did you lose your brother again? She shot at her, sharply 

“no, he...he jumped.”

“Off of the tree. is he still alive”

“i don't know…

“you don't know. I’ve told you time and again Samantha, you can’t keep losing him. After he is found you and your brother stay right here in this castle. Is that clear. If you think that i'm going to make you another brother then you are sadly mistaken.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lose him. I told him not to he just jumped.” her tears turned into nearly a river. Her eyes began to blush red as her begging grew worse. 

“Alright my darling,” She surrendered pity to her daughter.  Bethany took her arm and had her staring directly at Bethany with those grey eyes of her. Grey eyes staring at blue eyes. “we will get to the bottom of this when your father returns.” 

they left the room. A touch of cold wafted through the halls. A slight shiver was sent through the both of them yet Samantha shrugged it off like her father leaving her to wonder how these northerners can stand these conditions. “Tolerance mi'lady.” She remembered her husband telling her. “Living in a solemn and singular land such as the Northlands it feels more like home than any other place ever could.” 

The little girl nodded. “Come on.” She pulled on her mother’s arm. She was a toothpick of a girl but the pain that surged through Bethany’s arm felt like her arm was tied to a galloping steed. She has her father’s strength that’s for certain. Bethany thought.  

Samantha’s hand never parted her mother as they walked down the funneling, stone stairs. As they proceeded to the great hall the gate opened in front of them. Bethany paused when her husband came through the hall along with her two sons and a mysterious woman whose hands were bound in hempen rope. Four men took the woman to what must either be the cells or the bathing rooms. 

“Who is she?” Bethany asked. Knowing her husband that question posed to be rather predictable. 

The brow that crowned his aging head narrowed like a river in its youth. He turned his head to face his wife, brooding. “Your questions will be answered in the hall tonight. Rest yourself.”

Bethany's hand laid upon the cold, crude metal that padded his shoulders. “Where's Justin.” Justin entered the Hall, skin pale with fear and he was shaking like a leaf. Sweat and fever struck him. Blood stained his clothes that seemed to have already been stained with dirt and must. The smell wafting through the hall making Bethany and Samantha's nearly want to vomit. Justin on the other hand began vomiting that very moment. 

“Don't mind that mother, the little lord shat himself just before entering the castle.” Tobyn spoke bluntly, which posed to irritate Bethany. 

“Is this something you find amusing, my son?” she asked, disgusted. 

“Well, to be frank with you I find it funny when anybody shits themselves. I…clang...

Tobyn hit the floor with a broken nose. Edward stood over him in an intimidating manner poised to ask “is there anything else you wish to say, boy.” or “choose your words carefully, boy” type of question. Tobyn gave him his hand. Edward took it and helped him up. Edward then turned his attention to her, a look of reassurance on his face.

Edward grabbed her hand and molded it with his own. “He's safe now, Beth. Now, go on. Get some sleep.” 

“No,” she rejected him, vehemently with a tap that shook the mail and steel plating of his armor like a hammer to a wooden gate. “You come in here with my son scared out of his mind and scars on his body, a strange woman, and a letter from the royal court and you choose not to give me a straight answer.”

“Because I don't have one. If I did then I would tell you. You know that.” 

 “Samantha,” she beckoned to her. “Since this is your mess you take him to the scholar this instant.”

“but...he smells.”

“i don't care if he rolled around in manure, take your brother to Melvyn now.” Samantha nodded her hand reluctantly and went forth regardless. 

Bethany hoped that her petulance was enough to steer the truth from him yet it only lowered her resolve. Out of spite she kept it going only to vex him further through the day. As the moon rose the comforting heat of the room came with it. Rather than the light of the young moon waking her, it was a tap on the shoulder and a brooding stare from her lord husband. “Rise, my lady. The answers you seek are at the Great Hall.” 

at nights the hall was as dark as a cave. They would light the torches and sconces yet when the winds came at them they would give out their flame and cast into a small line of smoke. In the castle's defense Edward would always say “Hard for us to navigate and even harder for our enemies.” 

The hall however was halfway made of refined wood and stone patterned by the best lumbers and stonemasons in the Northlands. Every year it was renewed to keep the same appeal. Some lumbers and stonemasons come from Redwood Motte, some from the villages of the First and Second Spear, and others from Wind Town or the Grey Shore. Banners from the most esteemed northern branches would be unfolded during times of council meetings or moots. Yet this was not a moot. 

The gates beneath the Throne creaked open. She was bound yet showed no resistance. An armored foot kicked the soft spot of her calf and she fell to her knees. Sur Ryland, a knight in his fifties and captain of the guards loyal to Branch Greywind since he was but twelve was the first to raise his sword and put it to her neck. 

Pity and shock took hold of her. Having her tug at the fur on her husband's shoulder. “Ed, is this necessary. Whatever this is, whatever she did…maybe we could use her.”

Edward loomed over her once again. Her right foot retreated to the back of her left foot. Her hips fell half way back, nearly falling on the ground. “You see those scars on your son. Observe my lady. Is that how you think we should punish those who harm our flesh and blood.”  

“Your wife's mind is in the right place, lord.” the woman spoke out of turn. Edward rose his head slightly and Sur Ryland brung down the pommel of his sword to her jaw, delivering a vicious blow. A mouth full of blood spewed from her lips. On top of being one of the best fighters in the Northlands, Sur Ryland was known for having quite a temper. Especially when it comes to the respect of their Branch and name. 

“Do you realized you almost killed a child?” Edward asked her, seeing if she'd show any remorse. 

“he was merely a vessel for a greater purpose. He was fine under my care.”

“Care...” Marwen made an outburst, outraged that she would confuse kidnapping and scarring a child with caring. “look at him.” 

“oh please boy, don't you know anything about woods witches.” she scoffed, aloof. “I have medicine far better than any of your scholars can craft. I've used them for thousands of years after many of my rituals.” 

“I think I've heard enough.” Sur Ryland raised his sword, poised to strike her head off. 

“Stop.” Bethany shouted. She then walked forward and asked “What was this greater purpose that you used my son for? Tell me witch?”

“Your lord husband mistakes this meeting for a trial on my head. He is wrong, he and his house and all those who share his blood, who pledge their loyalty to all he owns are on trial at this very moment. All except one.” 

“Who?” 

She pointed to the squire Marwen. “He is your only chance. The gods have spoke to me Lady Greywind. Their voice has never rang false. He must go to Autumnfall before a great doom will come to this land. From north and south, east and west. From the land to the seas. There will nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.” 

“What lies in Autumnfall?”

“Your husband knows.”

in shock, Bethany turned to her husband seeing if he was willing to answer for this. His face hardened as he declined his head.  “Ed…

“Take her away.” Edward commanded. 

*Phaeus*

A burning mask lied on the chalice of fire. It blocked the tendrils of flames that tried to burn it and gave them a milky white color. He dove his hands into the fire and he glimpsed a crown of gold and embroidered wih rubies. Phaeus knew what that was for. He had this dream before. The thought of it sickened him. Darreon,

 “DARREON.” he bellowed, sweat dripping from his brow. He panted rapidly sweeping the covers off of him all in a violent rush. As though he was panicking or trying to escape something. He did not sleep with his wife this night but a royal consort. The woman was short of stature with brown hair, firm breast and a decent sized waist. She lied naked on the bed before noticing the prince’s strange behavior. She rose up, nude and ran to him. “What the matter my prince.” She asked. 

“Nothing, just…just leave.” 

So she did. He only turned around to see her curtsy. The sun rose to have its light burn through the red bricks of Crown’s Harbor. His squire Lyban Lychester came through the door like a ram. “My prince…the king he is ill” Phaeus ran to the door. The squire walked behind him. Phaeus quickened his pace through the hall. He came through the King’s room and saw his brother Darreon sweating and shaking violently. The bed sheets were soaked with his sweat and every time he’d have to cough he would cough into the pillow. His coughs were hoarse, so hoarse that Phaeus could hear his throat shredding like paper. 

 He stepped forward with reluctance, gulping his own spit at the sight. His stomach fluttered at every step as his gaze caught every drop of sickly sweat that slid off his skin. “Has he eaten anything?” Phaeus asked. Worry washed over him. 

“No, your benevolence.” 

“THEN FEED HIM SOMETHING,” He lashed out, his jaw clenched and his breath quickened. “What are you waiting for?” 

“We tried my prince, but he…he wouldn’t eat anything. He would vomit it out or…or-“. Phaeus lunged at the squire with fury. His brow thick with bulging veins and a red face. He jerked the squire’s crimson leather cuirass and pushed him to the wall. “By the gods.” He bristled. “You will feed him every last drop of food in this hall or you’re going to be DEAD.” 

Phaeus walked towards the feverish king and placed his hand on his head. “You should eat brother. Don’t worry they’ll find something for you.” He shivered as he uttered the words. “I’ll find something for you. remember brother, remember our promise.” 

He walked out of the room and down the hall and headed to the Grand apothecary. An old man lurked about the room. His eyes were rheumy and hair white as snow. “Who goes there, hello.” He spoke aloud. 

Phaeus ran passed him and handed him his eyeglasses. He squinted his eyes before seeing clearly. “Your…your benevolence.” He croaked as he bowed. It bothered him a bit being called king. Darreon was still alive, he still wears the crown and claims the throne. Although Phaeus looks much like his brother. Red and orange hair the color of flames,  He’s not going to die. He thought. “Stand, I’m not your King.” Not yet anyway. 

“Oh, apologies my prince…uh, being old weathers a man’s sight.” 

“Do you have anything for a fever?” The Prince asked. The old man knew what he meant and why he was here but that did not matter to Phaeus. If he did not give Phaeus what he is asking for then he’ll raid this entire room from cupboard to pantry and beyond. The old man knew what was at stake for him. “I have plenty and have tried plenty of them but the King’s condition is too severe. It’s as if he burns right through it.” Phaeus sighed in disappointment.

 “The lords have called a council meeting on this grim matter my prince.” A gathering of crows ready to peck at his corpse.  

“And you expect me to attend.” Said Phaeus. 

“Who better.” A woman came in the room. She was a thick, plump woman with olive skin with breasts that were large and firm. 

“Lady Victorya.” 

“You are the brother of a King, and next in line.” She touched his hands. “You know that it is your duty as much as your sons to attend these meetings. There are things to discuss and we must discuss them.” 

“I KNOW…I know what we must… it’s just-”

“-Just what, my love. Attend or not.” Victorya interrupted. Phaeus scoffed and turned his head in disgust. “Words hold the realm together better than a sword, shield, crown or throne.”  

“You see him coughing and sweating and you…this could be smaller than you think it is.” Said Phaeus desperately holding on. 

“If a man is coughing and spewing blood and has a fever that will burn through every medicine that our Archscholar Cywell can give him…”She sighed, trying to say the words. “Go to the meeting Phaeus, please. That is all there is to say for me.” She was calm as still water. She could say nothing more. Although it would be appreciated to hear some comforting words. They walked from the apothecary to the Royal Council Chamber. There sat all the known lords of the court. 

Lord Freon of the Branch of Brynn and Lord-of-coin sat on the seat next to Prince Aereon, Phaeus’s third son. Most say that he is the spitting image of his father. Phaeus has a few grey sprouts of hair that might disprove that saying. His second son Prince Maekhar sat two seats down from Lords Varyon and Lygon of the Branch of Lychester. Lady Victorya told Phaeus that she commanded Maekhar to behave himself in the council. “I don’t take orders from women.” He said, rudely. A red hand mark slept on his face. Phaeus gave himself the false impression that he will obey without question but he knew his son but what he didn’t know is whether or not to trust his other family members. 

Lord Nymos, a man plagued with leprosy, donning a silver mask and gauntlets sat away from the council. His brother made sure of that after the death of Lord  Penwell, Lord of Parchment. “My lords, this is an unpleasant matter for me and my royal family. If we may let us speak of what we can do for the safety and preservation of the realm.” 

“My prince, you speak our language.” Said Freon with a sharp smile. “For that is our specialty.” 

“Father, me and Lord Freon were the discussing the cost of the upcoming events for-“ 

“-for what, what events.” Phaeus’s mood darkened. His brow stiffened as his stomach seemed to turn. His fire-like hair bristled like a rising flame. All too well, he knew what thoughts crept in the dark corners of their minds. He jolted from his chair. “You talk of my brother…my brother THE KING” he yelled. “As if he’s already dead. Let me make one thing clear, HE IS STILL VERY MUCH ALIVE, and he will continue to live thereafter. You do NOT know his fate and will not dare pretend that you do. Is that understood?” He banged his fist on table and sat back down panting rapidly in rage and disgust. 

“Father, unless you’ve made a potion that guarantees the improvement of his sickness or allows him to live for a hundred years as our great-grandfather then there’s room to discuss a new reign.” Prince Aereon said, dryly and calmer than his wife was. 

“If I could speak boldly,” Prince Maekhar requested, rising from his chair. He as always bold and to a fault. “A king cannot rule on his deathbed, he must rule with strength while on the throne. A dagger in his heart would be a kindness.” 

“Prince Maekhar?” Queen Victoria, abhorred. A jarring shutter went about Phaeus. His hands shook and his lips were as clenched as his jaw tightened. 

“I have to concur, that seems a likely option.” Prince Aereon laughed.  

“That’s enough my princes.” Said Victoria. 

“Mother I do believe this to be a council meeting.” Aereon said with laughter. It did not surprise him that his sons seemed to have no sympathy for their uncle. The advice of his sons began to weigh heavily on him as always when it came to this matter. 

“Please my Princes,” Freon begged with that dagger cut smile of his. “Perhaps a suggestion to ease your father’s mind. “

“Ease his mind, Ease his mind.” Maekhar was outraged, his head would steem like a mad bull. “He’s going to be king. He’ll have no time for an eased mind. We have a realm to protect.”  

“Yes brother, tell us what we've grasped already.” Said Prince Aedon, sarcastically. The voices seemed to circle around him until a void tune lapped over them. With his gaze he saw their lips move but what came out? Nothing. A queer and short sense of relief struck him for a moment. What came over him he could only wonder? 

Who can he trust? Who can he rely on?they all want to just cut their losses with Darreon and it felt as though the same would go for him if he were king. No one spoke on his behalf. He was still alive and still the king. What do they ask of him to do? He only looked to Nymos who seemed to be silent for the whole meeting. The lords had no love for the leper. They would say that even a word uttered from his mouth and the whole council will be infected. Maekhar, told him that he does not believe in such foolishness but bears hatred for him nonetheless. He even suggested a chain to go on his mask. Phaeus slapped him for that. 

 It would be a slight on the council but this was his brother. He must stay alive and Phaeus will do anything to keep him alive. My promise to you brother. He said to himself. 

His chin rested upon his knuckles. He stood his head up, waiting to hear what Nymos had in mind. ““Nymos, my friend, what say you on this matter.” He asked in hope that he may speak that which may preserve King Darreon’s reign. 

“keep your distance leper.” Maekhar spoke cruelly as he ripped a sword from the scabbard. “When my father is king we need him strong, not sick like our uncle.” 

“Ah, yes my prince, I forgot how insolent you can be at times.” Nymos stood smug. The man had a voice so soft that it could put a child to sleep. Phaeus pressed his palm to his face, sighed and rubbed between his eyes in embarrassment of his son and heir’s actions.

“He has his passions our brother.” Quipped Aedon. 

Phaeus had to admit, Aedon gave these meetings some shine of light where Maekhar just darkens it up. He paid attention to these meetings and talked almost as seldom as Lord Nymos did. He could not say for Aereon. At times it would seem as though him and Maekhar are as thick as thieves. There was also a sort of recklessness to Aereon that he shared with his brother. Aereon was the kind of danger that could charm a deer out of its thicket and that stare he would give, it had a way of crawling under your skin.  

“Hold your tongue.” Prince Maekhar yelled, furiously.  

“Do you plan to cut my head off, I thought you did not want to get sick.” Said Nymos. He prodded the bull on that one. Maekhar was ready to stick his blade through Nymos’s skull but was halted by Phaeus. 

“Put your sword away boy,” said phaeus “That is an order.”

“I pray, if my son will grow up to be your ages then he’ll not behave as atrociously as you have at this council meeting.” Said Victoria. 

“Does the little prince plan to join the council, is he to be king. NO, so silence your mouth woman.” Maekhar lashed back at her.

 “ENOUGH,” Phaeus rose from his seat after slamming his fist on the table for the second time. “That is your queen.” The next meeting we will have. You will control yourself, boy, do you understand me. You are excused from this meeting, go to your chambers.” Maekhar had no words, he only left after throwing the chair on the ground in anger. 

Prince Aereon was giggling at his brother. “I expect better from you my lord Nymos.” Phaeus struggled to utter one word out. That is exactly why I do not want to be king. He thought “Speak, my friend.” 

“Your Benevolence, despite how horrid your sons speak, I do believe that we must move forward.” It was too much for him to swallow. He felt abandoned and powerless. A flutter was in his craw. A line of sweat dripped from his bulging brow as he rose reluctantly with shaking arms. A deep breath was one he had to take before he uttered the conclusion of this gathering. 

To his chambers he walked in despair. A darkness came upon him with every step. His bed had columns of gilded steel and miniature Avyrrian sphynxes. The linen covers lay unmade and tattered. He could call for handmaidens but instead he lied upon it regardless. I made a promise, he made a promise. He thought to himself for hours lying upon the bed in reluctance. Some promises must be broken. Despite Maekhar shortcomings he is right about many things. A king cannot rule on his deathbed and a realm as at stake. 

If Phaeus does not take the throne than the realm will fall. None of his sons he could trust as far as he could fling them to the skies. Avarice and Ambition cloud their hearts. 

 Nightfall had approached. He had no choice. The bloodline must continue. The throne must be secured and a worthy brow must have a crown upon it. All of this looped over and over again in Phaeus’s head as he strolled about the crimson hall. He opened the door to the King’s chambers and saw King Dareon lying on the table, carrion for the crows of this gathering.

Reluctantly, he approached the dying King. With sweat making a cloak that lied upon the fabric of burgundy linen blankets he looked a wretch. His arms were thin as branches and slick as oil. It seemed as though he could barely move. Phaeus stood horrified. His brother was a good king. Darreon had his share of illnesses but the gods gave him a crueler fate of suffering one that had no remedy. 

Phaeus leaned against Darreon’s chest to see if he was still living. Red phlegm surfaced the red-pinkish flesh about his mouth and lips. His breaths were nothing but wheezes. “Brother.” Darreon managed to make out a ghostly whisper. That excited Phaeus. 

“I’m…I’m here. I’m here brother.” He said in a shuddering breath. Phaeus carved a smile mixed with tears. 

“Do you remember…cough…cough… a girl I saw. I…i loved her. She was a girl with blue eyes…cough…cough… and blond, fair hair.” Darreon rambled on. “My…daughter, my…cough cough…Daughter…Ry...” he breathed a breath. Then more and more. He then started coughing violently. 

“Brother, brother. Please.” Blood spewed from Darreon’s mouth whilst Phaeus pleaded. 

“My King, my brother. I beg of you. Don’t leave me. No…no.” tears burned through Phaeus’s eyes. Veins appeared on his brow as he bellowed for a moment. 

Only then did he know that there was no help. There was no saving him. No medicine, nothing. He snatched the pillow and slid it right from under his brother’s head. Phaeus shoved the pillow onto Darreon’s face. Darreon started to jolt and bounce shaking the bed. Phaeus could hear the muffled cries and wheezes which made it ever more unbearable to stomach it down. The breaths had stopped. Phaeus lifted the pillow and saw a stiff face. His eyes did not close. He only lied still, looking up at the ceiling. 

Phaeus stared with tears rallying to his eyes. He looked away and shuttered to his knees. His hands took hold of his scalp. He let himself whimper in agony as he sheathed his hands in the openings of his elbows to comfort himself. It all had to come out. Something left him alone in this world and it no longer lied in the corpse that was before him. 

His eyes were reddened from the crying. When he opened them he saw the crown. Trembling with reluctance, He took it along with a bottle of wine, a goblet and left the room. He headed to the Throne Room. It was only seventeen chambers down to the right. The floors below him was green marble from the cities of Lyr and Vatash. He could not help but to stare at it as he marched about the hall. 

He then reached the seventeenth chamber and saw the Throne Room gate stand before him, as tall as the Black Palace itself. He pushed the doors open. The floors had square shapes. And the columns were embroidered with streams of tunneling flames. Far behind all of that was the Crimson Throne made by Darreon the Conqueror when he killed his own Phaedron and had its bones dipped in iron. Its ribs, spine and sternum made the splat, rails, stile and quarterfoil whilst the legs and claws were fashioned as the arm support and lower rails. Atop of the throne was a skull and maw of the phaedron. Beneath the throne were skulls of the kings who were slain and conquered. The fabric from their cloaks were resown, stuffed and made into a cushion for the king to sit on. Measuring from the size of the throne the creature that it was carved out of must've been as big as the room itself. Almost going up to the roof. 

It was as large as the columns in the hall. The gates then opened. His wife, sons along with all of his Honor Guard and Royal councilmen come surging in, looking at Phaeus in utter shock and confusion. As though they didn't know what this all means. Phaeus then begins laughing hysterically as he pours himself a glass of wine. He drunk it and said to himself To the once and future king. 

*Marwen*

Snowberry Ale was a hard drink to go down your throat. It’s said to burn a cold burn inside. Marwen drunk another. Streams of the remnant of the beverage travelled through the sides of his neck. It soaked through his shirt and a man beside him erupted with laughter. 

He had dirt blonde hair, grey eyes and much leaner than the other gentleman that sat to his left. He was tall with ink black hair grey eyes and a more muscular build. “And he sips yet another.” The blonde boy said. “I think he may be your competitor Torren.” 

Torren scoffed, playfully. “Another round and his throat will be as blue as a winter’s rose.” 

“we'll see, mi'lord.” Marwen bowed in jest. The crowd roared in laughter. The drinking continued. Marwen drunk so much ale it spewed out more than his words. Eventually, the voice around him begin to dim. His vision turned to a watery haze with his legs trembling from beneath. His left foot was caught behind his right ankle. He lost his footing, flailing near a table to catch the wooden edge so his face would not meet the ground. Unfortunately, it did and blackness took his eyes. Amidst the darkness of his mind a blue aura shined bright enough to wake him up with his eyes squinting. Yet it did not. 

Curiosity bloomed in his mind as it did in the woods. A voice boomed, echoing through the lonely shroud. The voice spoke in a language his intuitive mind failed to comprehend. His head cocked back, turned his front, sides and to his back again in an instinctive frenzy. 

“Ysingyr,” the voice beckoned him once more. He looked to his belt, seeking his sword yet it was not there. “If you had your sword then it would be aimed at the wrong target.” 

The creature came closer. As it did the ray of blue lights shimmered brightly. He almost could see deep inside the rune marks. Pale, stringy ripples swam and flowed like a school of tuna. Some seemed to merge like bits of fiber clinging amongst one another as though they were all one, making up the magical essence of the aura. “If you expect me to free your master-witch then you are mistaken.” 

“MARWEN.” another voice called to him, vaguely familiar. 

“Do you hear me.” 

Marwen's head rose to what would be the heavens to hearken to the call. When it came down so did the bear's right claw to rend his flesh. The blow so devastating and sudden it had him reel back and falling to the black-shrouded floor. “No boy, you are mistaken to even assume I was going to ask such. Even if I was to break into your stone monstrosity, I would be cut down before coming close to reach her.” 

The bear's nostrils flared. “Man is quite an inventive beast that no other can seem to parallel. Well...not yet anyways.” 

A pained grunt issued from the squire's lips. He tried to rise yet he knew that his footing had to be gained. The bear then placed his paw to Marwen's upper back putting all of its weight upon it. Marwen gave in with ease, having no chance against a ten foot talking bear that was possessed by magic. “You would do well to surrender.”

“What do you want?” He screamed. The pain besieging his very bones. 

“We already told you that, Ysingyr.” the Bear answered, aloof to the pain he was delivering to Marwen. “It is up to you to fulfill our request. For the hour is growing late.” 

Removing its paw, the bear stepped over his head and allowed Marwen to stand.  Marwen laid there feverish and trembling. Despite it all he still found the strength to stand half-way straight. He still had to lean a little to support himself. His arms stood crossed as his trembling continued. 

“Marwen, can you hear me boy.” 

the bear scoffed. “One thing I can say is that i'm glad to be somewhat free of my master. You on the other hand…Grrr. 

“Just know that I will be watching you Ysingyr, as a shadow in the woods. Whilst you tread a fool's path of war, and human frailty I will be there waiting for you to guide you to another” 

As the bear padded away the blue aura around it began to fade only to leave behind more questions and riddles rather than the answers for the curiosity-stricken squire. When he woke the moonlight above shone in his eyes. He used his elbow as a shield to block the light. Lord Edward was the first person standing over him as he regained his consciousness. Once he caught a full glance of his Lord and Master he tried to rise to his feet, but all too quickly. Sharp pain jabbed him hard in the chest and his lean upper belly. His hand clutched at his chest as he began to quake. Tobyn and another guard named Hewyrd aided Marwen. 

“Apologies my lord, I...”

“No need, boy. I'm the one who needs to apologize.” His lord turned to glower at the light of the moon. “Do you know where we are.”

“The Westwind Tower.” Tobyn answered. Marwen turned around to look at the other towers and noticed how high this tower was compared to the others. 

“Years ago, I went to Autumnfall on a visit. A girl,...she showed me a book. That was not published in any library. It was written in the tongue of our ancestors. One of the pages talked about the towers.”

“This tower was constructed thousands of years after Farryn Skywind founded Windreach. During…

“...The Storm Ages.” Marwen finished for him.

“Actually, it was months after the Storm Ages My Lord.” Scholar Melvin added. “After Jorvanmund, King of the Far-North defeated the Storm Queen he made a journey northwest to the Black Mountains where he made his tomb.” 

“This tower was built to face that tomb. Along with every other western tower in the Northlands. It is also said by the northern clans that these towers help power what is known as the Moonlight barrier to the Far-North.” 

“A fairytale My Lord, surely.” The Scholar suggested. 

Edward turned his brooding stare to the presuming scholar which was enough to scare him into silence. “Fairytale or not, we have more pressing concerns. Tobyn, You're coming with me so that the king can have another knight in his court. ”

Tobyn betrayed a scoff, outraged. “Father, i'm your second-born, couldn't that just go to Justin.”

“That was not a request, Tobyn. My decision is final. Gather your things and prepare for the journey south.” 

“Marwen”

“Yes mi'lord.”

“Go to your uncle Stellyn. Tell him that he is to have six-thousand of our men lined up at the gates.”

Marwen was taken aback by that decision. Usually he wouldn't think twice about questioning him for that would leave Windreach with only four-thousand men and even less food than what they have now. More problems to add on the cusp of the coming Winter. Yet it seemed as though Lord Edward remained rigid and firm towards his decision. “Richard will have only half of our numbers. Scouts say only three thousand. We need enough men to challenge both Richard's numbers and the Royal Court's.” 

“The city guard is merely two-thousand…

“...Are we going to battle mi'lord?” Marwen betrayed a question born out of frustration and confusion. 

“No, but we're preparing for one.” the wind Lord placed an armored hand on Marwen's shoulder and pressed on it tightly. “It's coming boy, I can feel it in my bones. I''m not mad. Either it will be Richard or the King, or both of them who starts it and I can guarantee that we'll be caught in the middle of it.” 

“I'll meet you in the hall the morning. Find Torren and bring him to me the next evening.”

*Josyph*

He lay on a small circle-shaped bed with rose-red quilts. The border of the quilt had a line of gold.  The curtains were lavender on one side and green on the other. The mosaic wall had arches of gold and were embroidered with rubies and emeralds along with some lines of gilded steel. At each slot of the wall were paintings of orgies. 

A large, golden lantern with many jewels in it hung from the ceiling and centered the rest of the other lanterns. Each lantern had different colors ranging from purple, red, blue and green. A woman was on top of him. She was dressed in a silver-gold chain harness for lingerie and no wear to cover her womanhood. She wouldn’t need it anyways since she buried Josyph’s cock inside of her. Josyph was a towering tall, handsome boy from the land of Ethryos. Ebon-skinned he was with locks of hair black as his skin. His eyes were green as emeralds, and his muscles were from arm, shoulder, stomach and legs were strong and finely chiseled as his jaw. Most of the women in the city of Anthos say that his body felt like armor.  

The woman that’s on top of him was fine and had beige skin, with brown hair and a curved waist. She is a whore from the city of Sys.  Her skin was sheening from the blare of the window. 

“We’ve been expecting your return Master Josyph.” She greeted him as she stroked her waist with a moan. Her soft, oiled hands caressed his muscled chest and started to pinch his nipples. She pushed herself forward to engulf them. Josyph’s lips formed a wolfish grin.

 His legs opened and bent. He held and gripped her buttocks and bucked his waist upwards. He deepened inside of her. “Ummm, uummm.” Her moans grew louder as he quickened his pace.  Her eyes faced the ceiling giving out moans that mixed with gasps of pleasure. The room they were in was not the only room filled with moans. The whole brothel teemed with it. 

A burning sensation crept in his cock. Gripping her buttocks he lifted her and had her on her back. Josyph’s moans began to shudder as he cupped her breast. His hand took a handful of her hair and his lips kissed the left side of her neck. He could feel his seed erupting so he placed his palms on her teats and started ramming into her. Sweat came down his brow. He thrusted harder and harder. He felt as though he could not stop himself. He legs wrapped around his muscled buttocks. “Aww, yes.” She let out. “Keep going. Keep going.” And so he did. This time even faster which made her rub her fingers vigorously against her cunt. “Awww, gods.” He howled with passion. 

With two more thrusts his seed filled her. They both were on their backs panting from exhaustion. Josyph could feel his muscles burning and tightening from the inside. She then laughed and purred provocatively as she caressed his arm. “Do come again Master Josyph.” She said. 

Josyph walked through the hallway of moans. Curtains of lavender hung at every doorway. Three whores made their way by Josyph. They were walking in the opposite direction. One was dark-skinned like himself. The second had amber skin and third was fair-looking. They all touched him softly as they passed by him. Josyph could have all three of them in one room and still have enough coin to pay for them but he had his pleasure for the day.  

He came here to the House of Roses after a fighting match in the pits where he crushed a man’s head in by stomping on him. He loved fighting, and after a good fight he would fuck it all away. He walked to the entrance room where he saw the owner of the establishment. A squat, fat and barrel chested man. 

“My thanks, once again my friend. “ He said. He had a thick accent. He then left the building and saw a man on the other side of the street. He was hooded and cloaked. I could take him. He then ignored the shadow and trotted off. It seemed not worth his time. 

He made his way down the street where the townhouses were until he found his own house. It was a house made from sun dried bricks. The roofs were red and tiled. When he opened the gate there was a stone foundation holding his feet. He creaked the door open. He saw his friends Thurick and Rayara. 

Thurick was a bastard and the first born son of Lord Harrick Hollister of the Branch of Hollister and a former Sword-For-Hire for the Windstriders. He was a lean, quick and cunning man and a year older than Josyph. Josyph couldn’t trust him at times. He was tall but nowhere near as tall as Josyph was. Rayara is an Ethyrosi girl, like Josyph but younger than him but from a different clan. She can be fierce yet bawdy at most times. She is his adopted sister and daughter of Master Varyon who was at a council in Crown's Harbor, the capital of Prymerion. 

She had braided, beaded locks of hair longer and thinner than Josyph with a pony dangling from the back. “A fair day to you friends.” He greeted. They stood silent, Thurick sat on a countertop between two columns sharpening his blade. Rayara drunk Veenesian Wine out of a silver tankard which she then threw at Thurick. Thurick reeled backwards, gracefully and bent right back up. 

“The fuck, woman.” He hissed in anger. She only laughed, drunk in reply. 

“Calm your tits Thurick, you act like you never had a cup thrown at you.” Josyph had to laugh at that. He went to Rayara and behind the column was a quivering fat, almond skinned man with red hair. His breast were larger than any Josyph would see at a brothel. 

The fat man’s hands were bound and he had a gag in his mouth. “Who’s this?” asked Josyph. In response, Thurick held the columns, stood up and did a back flip off the countertop. Josyph clapped his hands sarcastically. “That is Oraz zo Zalhaz, of the noble dominion of Zahlaz. Since you were busy getting your cock wet, we caught this one in Qavanthys trying to capture slaves to take him back to the Servile Cities. “ 

“We snatched him up quicker than his bodyguards could fart.” Thurick boasted, with a smirk. “I’m sure one of them shit themselves after a good fart.” Rayara said, slapping her belly boisterously with laughter. Josyph took him by his red hair and yanked it back. 

“What’s the bounty?” 

“Eight thousand gold tridents from Aeros. Three thousand black trout from Noroth. Five thousand iron galleys from Qovos and two thousand silver rams from the city of Vortos.” Josyph was struck with astonishment at Rayara’s answer. “Well unless the man has four heads to give then we’ll have to pick one.” 

 “Did she tell you that I cut his fingers off for spitting on me? The fucker’s lucky I didn’t cut out his tongue.” Josyph smiled and laughed at that. There was always something sinister about Thurick. He shared his brutish habits with Josyph.  “Well you wouldn’t need to do that, my friend.” He said, with that wolfish grin on his face. “Here, in honor of you.” He threw up his leg and gave the Oraz a kick so hard it could’ve snapped his neck. A crunching noise was heard. Instead, the fat man reeled backwards wheezing in pain. Blood wept through the black fabric on his mouth. Josyph then stood him up. “Now you see what happens to you hurt my friends.” He said, darkly in Zyraddyan. Thurick snickered behind him. Rayara followed him. 

 bang, bang, bang, the door sounded. Another bang went off and the door busted opened. “How many FUCKING times have I told you little cur, when I come to that door you never fucking lock it.” A man who busted through the door said, barking at Josyph.

Josyph wanted to stick a dagger in his throat, rip out his apple and make him eat it for this rudeness. He knew what he was going to ask for. Instead, he feigned a smile. “Pazal.” He called out, his arms held wide open to embrace the man. 

“Don’t “Pazal” me you little shit. Where’s my fucking gold.” He was a thin, spear looking man and more foul mouthed than Rayara. The Loqarthi’s accent was thick “A man after my own heart” she made a snide comment. 

“Silence man-bitch.” He barked at her. “Or I’ll have my men cut off the cock you wish you had.” Josyph took a quick look at Rayara’s tightening the grip of her kharak, looked back at Pazal and touched him on the shoulder. “Let us ease our tensions.” Josyph said. 

Rayara stood, still holding the grip with a head cocked sideways. Josyph knew that eagerness for years. It was one of the things he had shared with Rayara that brought them quite close. “May we talk in private my friend? Please” He pleaded desperately trying to hold his feigned smile together. 

“Fuck your privacy.” He denied. “I told you to take a dive when you fought against Versius the Titan but you didn’t. Your pride got the better of you and now I have to pay back Hezzarion or pick another fighter.” Josyph’s fake smile was breaking like gate under siege. He rubbed his hand up and down his face, trying so hard to sedate himself since he did not know what to tell him. 

“I don’t…I don’t have it now.” 

“You don’t have it now. You’re fucking kidding me right now.” He barked some more. Oraz gave out muffled cry. It was enough to distract Pazal. “Who the fuck is this?” It was all so perfect. Oraz was worth Eight thousand gold tridents in Aeros. He could pay Pazal back for the mishap he did years ago. Bygones will be bygones and everybody wins. Besides he only owed him seven thousand. 

“So you can’t pay me today, right now? When I asked you to” Pazal laughed at Josyph’s attempt to sway him. “I fucking told you Josyph, I don’t want it tomorrow, or the days after. I want it today, now and since you’re too fucking incompetent to pay what you owe-“ 

Josyph’s sinister laughter interrupted him. His mood darkened along with his eyes. His jaw was clenched and he cocked his head sideways. His chest puffed outwards as he said “-Let me get one thing straight Pazal, I broke every bone my body has in those pits while you stare greedily at me. I’ve bled in the sand while you filled your purse, I’ve fought with sword, tooth and nail. I’ve killed men in there and you tell me, ME how much I owe you.” He closed in on Pazal. His mouth aimed for his ear so that Pazal can hear him loud and clear. “I don't owe you shit.” 

He spat at Pazal’s feet and turned his back on him. “I will burn down this house and you with it.” Pazal threatened. Pazal sucked his teeth three times.  One of Pazal’s men unsheathed his sword and came charging at Josyph. He was man almost as tall as Josyph with a barrel chest and a pot belly. Quickly, Josyph turned around. The man’s arm swung for Josyph’s neck. In defense, Josyph swiftly blocked the blow with his arm and his elbow smashed against the man’s brow. Blood spewed from his nostrils. Josyph bent the man over, locked his arm and snapped it like a toothpick. 

The big man then reeled to the hardwood floor screaming in agony. Another one as thin as Pazal ran to avenge the big man and make up for his mistake only to find himself pinned to the column screaming but not from a broken arm. Instead Josyph’s dagger seeped slowly into his eye socket just to hear him scream. And so he did. The screams started to shrill. Blood spattered on Josyph’s face. He licked his lips and pressed his tongue hard against the back of his teeth in pleasure. 

Rayara threw a man betwixt the columns where his body smashed through barrels and wooden boxes. Her Khatar took off a man’s arm with a twirl and parry. With a scissor strike her blades raked his throat simultaneously. His head rolled off his shoulders as her blades were crossed. 

Thurick moved light as a feather cutting through two men like a whirlwind. He was quite an acrobat. Rayara found the man she threw lying in broken wood pallets. He even had one driven in his back. She pinned her foot to his chest and buried the blade deep in his neck. 

Josyph screamed manically. Excitement rushed through him like a kicking mule. “Now Pazal, would you rather have your gold resting on your corpse or rather wait TOMORROW.”  Josyph plunged it deeper. His grin showed his teeth. “Make your choice my friend or die where you STAND.” A surge of anger came about him as his fist slammed on the pommel of his dagger, killing the man. 

Pazal nodded unhappily. Josyph was in a frenzy that came upon Pazal like a crimson storm but it calmed down with Josyph’s hysterical laughter. “There we go, the matter’s settled. I’ll pay you tomorrow after I deliver the bounty and all is well with the world. That sounds great doesn’t it? I’ll even let you travel with us.” Josyph’s muscled arm leaned on Pazal’s thin collar. Pazal had to nod again to assure him. “Great, just great. Now, let’s have a match shall we to make up for old times.” He patted him on the pack and all three of them left the house

*Bethany*

The grey hall was dark and dour as always. They stood torches atop every column for light and warmth. Still the cold wind seeped through the ancient stone. In the afternoon the steward Fallon Celwyn had men carry out of the table for the meeting come the night. 

During the night the meeting had begun. She sat on the left chair adjacent to her husband, Lord Edward. Torren sat to the right next to his brother Tobyn. Close as ever they are she thought. Sur Ryland, Sur Orrick, his son Dedrick and Sur Harrstan, a fugitive knight declared dead by the Royal Court during the Vile King’s reign. Sur Ryland was blunt enough to tell Lord Edward that he did not trust the man. Marwen sat next to Tobyn. “Now, this is a grievous hour to announce that King Darreon is dead.” Marwen and Samantha bulged their eyes as shock and surprise filled the room. 

“Oh, gods.” Tobyn sighed in disappointment. “A crown on your head and you're a feast for crows.”  Torren shared his brother’s thoughts along with Bethany as well. His father rumbled under his breath yet also had to agree. 

“I also thought it prudent to discuss the cost of the coming visit.” Scholar Melvin added. 

“Lord Richard Canntheron seems like a costly man.” Tobyn commented. “I heard the court is still paying him compensation taxes.” 

“My lord we need to count the wine from the cellar, plus some of the food we’ve been saving for the coming winter.” Added Marwen. “What of the witch?”

“I would execute her myself, under our custom.” Said Edward. “Yet Richard's arrival poses to intercede that. Sur Ryland will have that honor.” 

Sur Ryland bowed his head at that honor and stood to the side. 

Justin pulled at her sleeve, meekly showing her a chip of wood he carved from the forest. It had a rune drawn on it. Without so much as an explanation, he ran to his seat beside Sur Ryland. As the voices seemed to fade she pondered at the vision she had at the Earthstone. All the bodies and red sky and the voice. What will fade and what will she have to embrace? What doom did she or anyone face? 

She asked Scholar Melvin about what the witch told her. He only said that prophecies and visions are not real and that she was old enough to know not to believe in them. He even talked of the priests of the Order of the Sun and how they would use magic and visions to drive men mad. The Zyraddian Emperors of Ashathar based their conquests on visions of the Sun Priests until they rebelled against them. 

Edward had his hand atop of hers. She stared upon the grey the sprouted from his hand before looking up at him. “My Lady.” He seemed as though he had something to say. Something tragic or worse. “I leave you here with Torren and the children. I’ll name you Lady Regent and holder of Windreach. I promise that I’ll return.” 

He lies, they will enter a darkness with a crown of crimson upon its brow. The voice crept into her head. Her eyes closed for a moment. A dark red essence shrouded everything and the voice boomed louder. He will seek it, and he’ll find it and when he finds it, you’ll have but one choice. Her eyes fluttered. She shook it to regain her senses. 

“I’ll go with you Father.” Torren said, eagerly. Thick as thieves they were. They’ve spent every waking moment together since birth. He was not going to let anything part them from their brotherly perch. 

It should've came as no surprise but that was not enough to sate her anger. “No my son, you must stay here.” She stopped him. “If you leave us, we might as well not have a wall, or a throne for that matter.” 

“He is my brother and the only one I got. I-“ 

“THE ONLY BROTHER YOU HAVE.” Bethany was outraged, sickened to craw. “Do you any idea who and what you will leaving behind. Edward, my love you can see that the other lords will not take me seriously. If we are under attack, I cannot rally them to my side to fight for me. That is why you must stay here.”  

“Your mother’s right Torren. You have to be here for your mother, brother and your sister.” Edward was earnest but it did little to ease Torren. “They’d be defenseless without you. You leave and they'll be vulnerable to our enemies. the winds will blow them away and you’ll never see them again.” Beth’s eyes gazed sullenly at Torren. She could walk ‘round the table and slap him . He should just agree and get it over with. She needed him, she needed her son but most of all she needed her husband. Edward was summoned to Crimson Square, Torren was not.  

“I’m going mother. I made a promise and I’ll keep it. I’m going.” Torren put his foot down, remaining absolute. His face tightened. 

“TO HELL WITH YOUR PROMISES-“Bethany lashed at Torren with anger and frustration. 

“BETH.” Her Lord husband thundered. He took a breath attempting to ease his words through. “He’s a man now Beth and a man makes choices.” 

She shuddered out her words. Tears burned through her eyes. She felt abandoned, defenseless, and naked. There was nothing she could do or say to sway him against this folly. EMRACE, EMBRACE. “And we’ll will suffer the consequences.” She said, sullenly. “Come children,” she gathered them ‘round and trotted off into the bastion. 

She knew the guilt her husband bore for his decision and she wanted him to feel that way. Good for him to know what burden he threw on her shoulder. They slept together but were not as joyful and frivolous as they were two hours ago. 

*Torren*

Torren stormed off from the meeting, sullenly. His lord father shouted for his return but his call fell on deaf ears. Tobyn followed him. “Torren come back.” He only sped up his pace but he knew that Tobyn was faster. Sometimes they would race through the castle and Tobyn would win. 

He passed through several houses and taverns. Through the courtyard where the fountain was before Tobyn managed to get his atop his shoulder to stop him. Torren stopped himself with a clutching fist. His jaw was clenched and brow furrowed. His breaths shuddered as he turned ‘round. “I’m abandoning my family, Tobyn.” Guilt gave weigh on Torren. “Justin is eight years old, he’s just been playing in the forest his whole life. Samantha goes with him and my mother…she’ll be the only one there to save them.” 

“Well “lord” Torren, there are council meetings in Crown's Harbor.” Tobyn joked. 

“I’m going to inherit Windreach not Crown's Harbor.” 

“Hey, we will return here and they’ll be safe, I promise you.” Said Tobyn, lightening the mood. That is one in a thousand reasons that they are so close to each other. “Let’s go outside, I know a brothel that we could go to. Take your mind off of your troubles.” 

“Do you have the money?” 

“I got some from the butcher for hunting those squirrels.” Tobyn showed the purse. It was light but enough. The portcullis opened and Torren and Tobyn went through but not to the forest. They reached the second gate at Windtown. The squealing of pigs was accompanied by the bawking of chickens, the mooing of cows and the neighing of horses as they passed by nearby city pens and sties. Shit of all kinds of farm animals ranging from horse, chicken, cows and pig. Carts and wheelbarrows rolled onto the cobblestone streets. Horses carried one of the wheelbarrows with cabbage, wheat and bales of hay neighing all the while. 

Tobyn pointed his finger, Torren looked and they saw the Tavern where Marwen stayed. It was known as The Iron Flagon. Marwen always said that he hated it there. They could go in there and cause a stir of  mayhem and then leave the place but then they would hear a word from their lord father the next day. The brothel was their next stop. The Stony Pillar it was called. It was a cheap place since it was in Windtown as most brothels and shops are a tad cheaper than what you would have in the south. Some northern castles refused to have brothels due to how honorable  a lord would hold themselves. There was one of the Skeleton Kings of Grimfort who had a personal harem and had it destroyed with all of the women in there. All of them crushed to pieces. Legend says you could hear their cries echo and haunt those hall. 

They entered the brothel and men sitting in all tables raised their tankards high in the air as praise for their presence. The chants filled the brothel like an army camp. Men had their man hoods dangling like anchors ready to delve into deeper waters. 

“Lord Tobyn.” A fat bartender purred provocatively. 

“Daisy.” He called her name. “Five silver for the Ale and another five for my brother.” Tobyn patted Torren on the back. 

“Two drinks.” She shouted to the brewer. 

“You fucked her before?” Torren whispered in his ear, curious. 

Tobyn shushed him tapped him on the chest. “I did…time and again. I’m a man who caters to all needs.” Torren laughed in a hush tone. The drinks were brewed and placed on the table. They drunk it all and payed for more. Three whores came to cop a feel off of them and so they did. 

They drew and lured them through the wolf skin curtains that stood on the doorway. They were drunk but at least drunk enough to not strip fully naked. A woman mounted Torren and rode him like a speeding steed. Tobyn had a girl on her back with her legs wide opened. They were both in separate rooms. Despite that they felt as though they were as one. 

The woman had her arm at the back of his head and her tit smothering Torren’s face. Moans filled the brothel. Hours past came nearing twilight. When they’d finished with the women they left the brothel, drunk and wobbling about the streets of Windtown. Torren slipped but was not flat on his face. Otherwise half his teeth would have skittered across the cobblestone street along with a small streak of blood. 

His knees shot up a pain that would throb come the morning. Tobyn stumbled about trying to get Torren up. Torren struggled and groaned. He threw himself up bent over stumbling about and nearly falling again. His vision blurred. Torren somehow realized how he was ahead of Tobyn. Out of all the things he could be realizing that seemed to be the only thing. He then limped and trotted off with drunken speed.

 Tobyn ran behind him. As they ran further Torren grew woozier. Some darkness other than the fading night sky shrouded his eyes. He awakened when he felt something poking at him. When he rubbed his eyes he saw two guardsmen. “Lord Torren. Lord Tobyn, Lord Richard will be at the gates in three hours. Lady Bethany suggests that you head to the gates immediately.” The guards then lifted them up and escorted them back into the castle. 

*Phaeus*

The marble floors were white with tiles and spots of black. The wall was as crimson as most of the city was colored. A picture hung up at the walls adjacent to him with columns merged into them. Atop the columns were Avyrrian sphinxes in the shape of a golden phoenix with the body of a dragon. Behind him stood a window with a blaring light. There were five council chambers in the Black Palace. Most of them would not have large windows but mostly where they could put a torch on a pillar. 

 His chair stood at the front center embroidered with rubies and the cushion sewed with the royal coat-of-arms of a phoenix crowned and rising with wings unfurled. Fitting for a King. A title that he has yet to bear. Now came the coronation, which is open for conversation among the other future decisions he’ll have to make. 

He sat upon the ancient yet still lavish chair. A cough came before his breath as he patted his chest. He wore plush red cloth with gold sleeves. His collars were straight. A day ago he dressed all in black. He sat in his room thinking of how pleasant it would be to have the heads of every man in this court on spikes. The picture of his sons soured the thought. 

“I apologize my lords. For…for my behavior.” He looked about the room as if most of them held a dagger under the table. He felt as though he ought to have a dagger in his throat before uttering the words he will speak. “That was my brother and loved him fiercely, but he was also the king and I am his heir and guardian of the realm. My family and the lords of the other provinces are what hold it together. If I am to be king I shall head humbly, the advice my councilors give me. No matter how hard the words are to swallow. That is my vow.”

“No problem my Royal Regent, you owe us no apology. We are here to serve.” Lord Freon gave a sleazy smile. You’ll serve until I’m coughing in a bed. He thought dourly to himself. Darreon was the king, he was sick. There was something that they could have done. 

“There’s a prince here who owes you an apology here as well father.” Aedon jested. He had his hand pointed at Maekhar and he knew Maekhar would take it as if someone had thrown a brick at his face. 

“Good luck getting that.” Maekhar crossed his arms, sullenly. 

“You made a farce out of that meeting by acting a bloody fool.” Aedon Replied. 

“I merely replaced a soft mattress with an iron board.” 

“So you saying that you’re instructing your father? You’re teaching him the meaning of being a King, something he probably knows better than you. If I had the sense the gods gave a toad I would jump from the tallest tower than heed anything that spews from your tongue.” 

Annoyance furrowed his brow. It tensed harder and harder until he aired a breath. “My Princes, you will soon take my place on the throne, I will not have you squabble and bicker amongst each other with a crown on your heads. Now my lords.” 

“I asked the treasury accountant to funnel lord Varyon’s funds into the vault.” Said Lord Freon. Lord Varyon bowed after lord Freon’s explanation. He was a man from Ethryos with Ebon-skin bald hair and a braided goatee with jeweled and golden bead. He also wore a purple, velvet cloth sewed with a multi-colored sun. “He has leased several banks and is a well- known trader and Sealmaster from the Sealed Cities and has a seat in the Trident Bank in Aeros.” 

Nymos vouched for him. 

Sometimes Phaeus had wondered if Nymos were to sing a lullaby. The whole council room would be asleep. “Good. Since that is the case I’m sure we can cover the cost of the upcoming festivities.” 

Maekhar stood taut as a bowstring. “What costs, what festivities?” 

“Ease yourself, boy.” Phaeus pleaded with hardened gaze. 

“Come to your senses dear brother.” Prince Aereon said, giving his father that strange gaze he would always give. Those eyes were like a wolf stalking a deer through the forest. 

“Surely, the lords of the realm will not come all this way to Crown's Harbor for nothing. Bread, room and board surely must be given.” Aedon was calm yet had a tongue too sharp for his own good. 

Aereon was calm but in an unnerving way that made your skin crawl.  “Bread, room and board are among the many things that we have to pay for. There is the feast after the coronation, two jousting tournaments and yet another feast after that. On top of that we still have compensation taxes.” 

“Compensation, phhh.” Maekhar spat with pride. “Compensation for what? Continuing our dynasty. Seating the throne that you were born to sit on. Foolishness. My lords not only are we bankrupting the realm but we are but funding treason only for it to sprout back up like the weed that it is.” 

“Maekhar, an enemy is only an enemy when you make him one.” Phaeus reflected on himself for a bit. He thought of the cruelty that his father King Vhaegar the Vile committed. Which were one of the reasons that he and Darreon have been paying these taxes for years giving the Lords of Prymerion a large tax excuse. 

“And you think we are not enemies in Lord Richard’s mind or the minds of the lords of Wrathmarch.” 

“If we’re as foolhardy as you Maekhar I’m sure we’ll get to see them in an open field.” Jested Aedon. The lords laughed. “I rather have that man sodden with wine than holding that absurdly large battle axe of his.” 

“I’d rather see his tongue ripped from his mouth and his head on a spike.” 

“Do it then fool and we’ll be paying ten times as much as we’re paying now.” Said Aedon 

“And how much are we paying now?” Aereon spoke in his smooth, chilling voice. “Twenty thousand gold crowns every monthly quarter; almost half a million a year for each castle our dear uncle lay siege to. We’re paying more for making peace than we are for fighting a war.” 

“With all the gold I have and more, we will not have to worry about that my friends.” Varyon’s accent was thick. 

“Good. Now what of Lord Richard?” 

“Our wine cellars are fine, thanks for asking.” Aereon spoke dryly. 

Maekhar smirked. “No matter how much food, wine or coin we give he’ll piss it all out and go back to hating us even more than he did the other day.” Maekhar was right despite how hasty he was. Nonetheless, the realm has endured seventeen years of peace. The realm needs over forty years of peace to pay for the compensation taxes for all holds and castles that were sacked by the Vile King.  

 “Maekhar, My son. I am proud that you stand for my interest but when these events occur we will need to be within our best behavior and have your courtesy dine on your rage. We need Richard and all of those lord on our side in order to repair our economy and maintain peace. I suggest that you heed my advice as I have yours.” 

“Father, a king does not suggest. He commands.” Maekhar replied. Anger stirred in him more potent than Maekhar. 

Phaeus sprung from his chair so violently that it sprawled backward. His hand took Maekhar by the back of his head and slammed it hard on the table. Phaeus heard a shudder of Maekhar’s breath as his nose cracked. “Do not presume to tell me what a king can do. I’ve seen what Kings have done long before you were born you little whelp.” Phaeus released him and walked grudgingly to his chair. Before he sat down Maekhar rose his head and lurched off of his seat. He stared at his father with darkened eyes and grim face. Blood trickled from the weeping tear atop his nostrils. “You are dismissed, Prince Maekhar.” Phaeus said, anger in his voice. Maekhar only stood there with that same look on his face as if he did not know where the door was. Phaeus’s lips tightened, his fists balled up.

 Maekhar walked off, grimly. “Aereon, you are to meet Lord Richard south of The Gap. Make camp and await him there.” Aereon bowed and took his order. “That concludes this meeting my lords.” 

Nymos was the first out of the door. The light reflected from his silver mask as he exited the door. The rest then left along with him. Phaeus then left the room and saw Maekhar standing there passively with a broken nose. Phaeus closed in on him. “Do you think that you can be a better King than me?” Asked Phaeus. 

Instead of a nod, Maekhar bowed his head in admittance. “Good, one of the things that you have to learn is patience. That is something that Lord Richard does not have. We cannot afford to risk the wrath of him or any other lords.”

”They should be fearing our wrath.” Maekhar wrenched Phaeus’s fingers away. “How can you call yourself King if you are not feared? What power does the Crimson Throne, the throne of our ancestors hold?” 

“It holds all of the power in the world. Half of the Lords of Prymerion seek to overthrow me, son. If I give them a reason, it will not matter” 

Maekhar smirked, arrogant as always. “I had a dream. A dark dream. I saw you in there. I saw Darreon and Saenyra huddled and scared. The city was on fire and I ran to the gates. I saw your enemies will at your gates. Their men were by the thousands and a storm reigned above us.” Maekhar had a look of fear upon his face. 

Worry came over Phaeus which in turn made him curious “What storm was that?” 

“A storm of crimson. Swords from the north and swords from south. All of them at our gates” Maekhar whispered in his ear then walked off. 

“anything else in this dream, son?”

“yes...a lion from the east, flying from the east.” 

*Josyph*

The man he’s fighting was taller than Josyph was. Before they were both pitted against each other, Josyph gazed at him fighting from atop the lower tier. Josyph witnessed him winning four fights in a week. First fight he broke a man’s arm and sawed off his upper jawline with that large clever of his, leaving him with his lower jaw and his tongue in the open. The second one’s throat was ripped out. Third one had his entrails feasted on by him and the fourth one’s neck was snapped.  Josyph was his fifth. “Study your opponents.” Varyon had said to him once. The man’s name was Jatar Yun.  

Pazal sad that he was a man from Noroth. The Norothi were large, muscled people who used big heavy-handed weapons. Josyph thought about the time he travelled to Noroth. At the markets they sold red melons that came from Moonsap palm trees. It is said that moonmelons gave the Norothi warriors a savage strength, even build muscle and promote a healthy heart according to some scholars. But Josyph had no need for that. He has faced bigger, savage and fiercer opponents without one. Josyph the conqueror they called him, mostly because he faced opponents across all of the sealed cities though never went farther east. He heard that the famous gladiators there have much more skill and training then the fighters here in Anthos or in any of the other Sealed cities. 

Josyph went for a downward strike but it was blocked and Yun got the first strike. Gave Josyph a fist that smashed against his jaw so hard he fell to the ground. Josyph spat out a few teeth with blood that coated it.  The man charged like a crazed bull, striking savagely at Josyph while he was lying on the ground. Jatar thean kicked josyph in the ribs and cut him on the arm. In response, Josyph rolled away and swung his sword, aiming to reap his head off like a seed.  Instead, Josyph split Jatar's index finger in two. Jatar, angered and in pain bit down his teeth with a growl and with a grunt he chewed off his own finger. Gaining his feet, Josyph spun around, let his feet fly in mid-air and kicked the man in the face. 

 Jatar staggered away. Josyph sprung up and twirled three times in mid-air as a spectacle for the crowd and how they roared. The brute caught up to him, Josyph spun swinging his sword four times. He knelt to block and rose up, disarming his opponent. Josyph leaped and his knee gave a hard kiss to the Yun's chin. The big man went reeling to the sand as blood spewed up from his mouth like a water spigot. The crowd roared once more, Jatar Yun lied there growling and pounding at the ground angrier than ever. 

He rose up and quite fast too with that clever. A smirk dangled at the corner of his lips. The smirk grew into that same wolfish grin he would always have on his face. He took his sword, spun it around.  Jatar came at him aiming for his head. Josyph lifted his sword from the backhand, parrying Jatar's blow. His dagger cut Jatar’s wrists open. It glistened red as blood ran down his fingertips. Swiftly, Josyph spun around, ducking low. His sword bit deep into Jatar's gut, ripping it open. Jatar fell to his knees with his entrails and viscera hanging down and steaming for the crowd to see. 

He looked up at Pazal, hoping for him to be somewhat proud of his victory but did not care all the same. Pazal’s lip was curled, his fist tightened and he skittered off like the rat he is hissing and muttering something in Zyrradian. I own him, I made him, not the other way around. He thought, arrogantly. Pazal must have placed a bet on Jatar right from under Josyph and once more he did not obey Pazal. That does sound like something Pazal would do. Trust was not a gift that Josyph would give to a friend like Pazal. Although it would seem like he would not give that gift to any of his friends, for the games he played with his life, trust would be the sword that slayed him.

Three of Pazal’s men came out to the stadium. “Pazal wishes to see you, dog.” One of the men said to him. 

“Do you see a chain about my neck?” Josyph said, with an eager smirk. “Would you like hear me bark like one?” 

The bodyguards stood silent, which made Josyph grin . 

“He’s in the top room.” He walked to the room. Bits of sand rested in his sandals, gleaming the flames of the torches. The bodyguards marching behind. Up the stairs he saw the crowd leaving the stadium whispering of what? Josyph did not know. All he wanted was for whatever Pazal has to say be said. His thoughts went off to a girl who was Ethryosi like him, with skin black as ink but with purple eyes, firm breasts, appealing, voluptuous curves and those strange, beautiful hairstyles she would always have, a face as comely and worth any jewel.  

They went in the private room and Pazal sat there with his arms crossed, sitting in wooden chair. “Sit, Josyph.” He told him. Josyph sat and his eye was caught by a thin, lean man in a blue and gold toppar with the badge of a golden gryffon. '

“Do you know who this is?” Josyph’s brow began to furrow. He had an idea and he wished that he was wrong. 

“If I had to guess, you are a member of a Noble Dominion in the Servile Cities.”  

“Mazadar zo Bezzak, of the ancient and noble dominion.” The man with the Toppar bowed, but why? Josyph was not an esteemed member of a servile family such as Mazadar’s. Yet Josyph knew the custom and bowed, regardless. He gulped down a bit of air and his eye twitched a bit. “He will be uh…taking you under his wing. For a fair price.” Josyph’s fists curled, if he so much as uttered another word josyph’s hands would move down to his pommels. Despite that josyph bothered to ask. 

“How much?” His mood darkened, and his hands touched his pommel waiting for a moment to rip it from the scabbard.  

“Ten thousand Gold gryffons.” Pazal answered, with a bit of fear and shame, yet held to an ounce of beaten pride mingled with greed. If there was one thing he knew about Josyph, he knew there would be reprisal. Josyph was the kind of man you would have in your nightmares if you crossed him. He stared Pazal straight in the eye. 

“Pazal has been rewarded my patronage.” Said Mazadar. “He has now became a part of our noble dominion now that he has married my daughter Baraza. He will also be rewarded with a legion of thirteen thousand men that will be arriving here in two weeks.”   

“The East pays more than the west. Right, Pazal?” Josyph said, feeling a sense of abandonment. That feeling ran deeper than what he had between Pazal. “You get the gold, the army, the position and a wife half your age, and I get chains.” 

“I told you. I told you on that day to take a dive. Hezaron was one of the richest men in the city, and owns most of the stadiums that we go to. Now all of them are torn down because you could not be a good fucking dog and take one beating.” 

“So you put a chain around my fucking neck?” Josyph shouted back. 

“You know, Pazal. To be honest with you, im not surprised.    

He looked around, seeing if any of Mazadar’s or Pazal’s men would seize him. He saw a hooded man skulking about. Josyph peered at him. He had Mazadar and Pazal to deal with but his eye was caught by the stranger. 

“Josyph my boy.” 

“I am not your boy.” He said, cutting him off

“Look, you were one of my best fighters and a wild animal. But like all wild animals, you have to learn discipline, you have to learn respect and make me enough money to pay for the other stadiums. Oh, and another fighter.” 

“Good luck finding him.” Josyph grit his teeth, threateningly gripping his handle hard. 

“tsk, tsk, tsk, josyph. You still don’t get it.” Pazal said. All your years fighting and winning and you cannot see where you lost.” 

“A fight.” He scoffed. “You didn’t give me fight Pazal. You gave me a battle and I haven’t even started yet. But when I do I intend to win it. Believe me, Pazal. You have my word on that.” 

“Oh I do, Josyph. I do.” Pazal replied with a smirk on his face. 

“Take him to ships.” Mazadar said in Zyraddyan. Josyph took out his blade in response. 

The Stranger snuck behind one of Mazadar’s men and cut open his throat, threw his dagger at the man coming after Josyph and it caught him square in the back of his skull. Josyph was confused, baffled in the moment. He was a fast thinker in most situations, but not this one seemingly The man had plunged his dagger in a man’s throat, took his spear and plunged it through another man’s chest. The tip was coated with blood as it poked from the other side. A man came at josyph with a Khattar. Josyph parried it, twirled it around and made the khattar fly away, disarming him. Josyph then brought his neck to his blade and slit it. 

Suddenly josyph felt a thump at the back of his head. He did not recall falling upon the floor. “Wait, wait who are-“The man slammed a boot to Josyph’s face.