by Plague Jack
The King lay upon his bed spread-eagle, his member lying limp between his legs. Blood drained from the red smile carved in his neck and dripped from the bed in a lazy waterfall. At the end of the bed, Prince Darius thrust himself upon his mother, plowing her into the sheets stained with his father’s blood. He was seemingly blind to anything other than his own perversion, and thus Pendragon had the element of surprise.
"There was scarcely a time when Pendragon had been more furious. With one hand he grabbed the Prince by the shoulder and hauled him out of his mother. His fist struck Darius across the face with enough force to send Gabriel’s crown flying from his head. “How dare you, you little shit!” shouted Pendragon. His fist came down on the Prince’s face again and again until Darius’s nose crumpled inward. “How dare you! How dare you! How dare you!” shouted the dragon of a man as his fist rained down again and again onto what was once a handsome face. Darius might have been shrieking or gurgling through the blood, but Pendragon was deaf with wrath until his Queen spoke.
“Stop,” she said in a voice devoid of her usual confidence. She held a stained blanket across her breasts and body. Pendragon could see her shaking while she tried to collect whatever dignity remained.
“Let me kill him,” roared Pendragon. “This little monster of yours has had death coming to him since he learned to walk!”
“Perhaps,” said the Queen, “but he is still my son. Monster or not, I will not see him die.” In reply the Prince spat blood and teeth onto Pendragon’s boots. “I—I want you to see that the boy’s injuries are treated and he is sent into exile,” said the Queen. “And Darius, if… if you ever enter Amernia again, I will personally see that you are killed. A slow and painful death will await you should you ever return.”
Pendragon did what he had made a career doing—he obeyed. He saw to it that the Prince was treated, albeit hastily, and put on a boat bound for Azmire, where he was to live out his life in exile. The ship never arrived and was instead hijacked by elves, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Pendragon wished he remembered less. The Copper Road ended outside of Harpy’s Point, where it merged with the Stone and Gold Roads at Teryn’s Landing. He didn’t linger outside of Harpy’s Point long, to avoid being recognized and freezing in the thick snow. He took the Gold Road south towards the Talon. Woods became thicker as the mountain’s snow faded and dried under springs warm embrace. There was something immensely comforting about seeing fresh spring greenery after the desolation of winter. He stuck to the roads, occasionally stopping to shoot a nod and a smile to passing travelers who looked at him in his armor with awe. I don’t think they knew who I am, thought Pendragon, but just to be careful I had better avoid towns. He went off-road and cut through the brush to avoid a community of hunters called Harrow.
He left the forest and paid a gilnoid living under a bridge for the right to cross. The Sun Plains were appropriately named. Light beat down upon him with a sweltering heat. He took off his helmet to let his beard breathe and to wipe the sweat from his brow. The Sun Plain’s endless rolling hills of green were only occasionally broken by tree or boulder. A geyser spat hot steam as he passed and sent a flock of birds squawking away in startled terror. Avoiding the town of Softbelly was easy thanks to a diversion created by a herd of stampeding bison. It’s as if the problems of the East are of no consequence here, thought Pendragon as he witnessed elf and human children playing together. Perhaps I should thank Quintero for that when I see him.
The Talon was an island, its only entrance by land the bridge to the north. Most people who came to the Talon arrived by boat, and the island was a haven for human refugees. The hooked curvature of the island, which gave the Talon its name, had been converted into a massive harbor and boardwalk that dwarfed Voskeer’s. The Vaetorians had originally had the harbor built as a shipyard for dreadnoughts. The taking of the Talon during the Rose Rebellion had been a monumental blow against Vaetor. Pendragon could see a dreadnought sailing from the Talon’s harbor as he approached, its blue sails ushering it towards distant shores and faraway lands.
“I am Sir Clark Pendragon, and I am here to see Duke Prosper Quintero,” said the Dragon Knight to the city guards, who wore tabards dyed a navy blue and emblazoned with a teal sea serpent.
“No, no, you’re not,” said a guard with a curled blond mustache. “Pendragon was killed during the Norfield riots. Everyone knows that. A fucking dwarf killed him. Shot him with a crossbow.”
“Shut up, Phil,” said his companion. “I think he’s telling the truth. Look at that helmet and armor.”
“So some asshat made himself a scary helm. Nice try, but you ain’t Pendragon. Pendragon’s dead,” said Phil with certainty.
“I’m not dead,” said Pendragon lifting his visor. “I’ve just been a bit preoccupied lately.”
“Bullshit! Donnie, you can’t believe this load of—” began Phil before his companion cut him off.
“Fuck off, Phil. That’s Pendragon, all right. I would recognize you anywhere.”
“Do we know each other?” asked Pendragon.
“Yes…” said Donnie. “Well, no, actually. I saw you at the Yulander tournament in Voskeer. You unhorsed Jario Stolk in one blow.”
“Yes,” said Pendragon. The tournament seemed so long ago. “Yes, I did.”
“You were disqualified for smashing Stolk in his toodles. Was that really an accident?”
Pendragon smiled. “It wouldn’t be polite to brag, but would you miss the chance to chastise a Stolk where he needed it most?”
Both of the guards burst into laughter. “I’m going to take Pendragon to the palace,” said Donnie.
“If you’re wrong, the palace guards will have your head,” warned Phil.
“A silver I’m right,” bet Donnie.
“Deal,” said Phil, and they shook on it.
“This way, Dragon Knight,” said Donnie as they crossed the bridge into the Talon, the ocean thrashing on the rocks below them. The gate to the Talon was flanked by the navy flags bearing the teal serpent of House Quintero. The Talon was one of the largest ports in all of Archipelago, let alone Amernia. Being one of the centers of global trade made it difficult for racism to flourish, for in order to thrive, the people of the Talon had to deal with a wide and colorful array of people. If there was tension at all in the Talon, it came in the form of Amernian-born versus immigrant. The market built just inside the city’s gate was filled with brown, yellow, and black faces in addition to the usual Amernian white. The crowd stared at Pendragon with a simple curiosity as he rode through, but he was hardly the oddest thing on display.
An elephant was for sale at an auction block, and was being sold by a short squat man in a black turban. Upon the elephant’s skin were designs of gold and red, painstakingly painted in repeating patterns of polygons. “Two thousand gold!” bid a wealthy looking dwarf from the crowd.
“A bid of two thousand, from the dwarf with the pipe,” said the auctioneer. “Is there anyone who dares to try to beat his price? No?” he asked, stroking his black beard with disappointment. “Going once, going twice… sold to the dwarf. Enjoy your new elephant!”
“Tiger penis?” an old merchant asked Pendragon as he passed his stand of dried animal parts.
“Excuse me?” asked Pendragon.
“Dried tiger penis!” said the merchant. “Ancient Glass Empire cure for limp rope! Make man happy, make lady happy, make everybody happy.”
“Does he look like he’s worried about his rope being limp?” shouted Donnie, pointing to Pendragon in his full plate. “Piss off,” said the city guard, sending the salesman scurrying back behind his booth.
Further up the crowded street before them was one of strangest sights Pendragon had ever seen. The mantis was roughly the size of a horse and was dressed in silks of purple and blue. Upon its claws it wore golden rings, and wrapped around its antennae were jeweled chains. The mantis sold tikis that glowed faintly with purple light, and tribal fetishes woven to
gether with dried boar tendon. Inside bamboo cages, giant damselflies beat their wings and nibbled hungrily at the carcasses of dead mice.
“What in the name of the gods is that?” asked Pendragon, nodding in the direction of the giant insect selling wares.
“That’s a mantoid,” said Donnie, disinterested.
“And, uh, what exactly is a mantoid?” asked Pendragon. “And does it eat people?”
Donnie laughed. “They can, but generally they’re politer than that. They’re a bug race that threw a rebellion a few years back in Keonan. Actually a rather peaceful lot, rarely give us any trouble.”
“Every time I’ve come back to the Talon, the world has always felt bigger,” said Pendragon with a smile.
“It has a way of doing that,” said Donnie, lifting his helmet. “Look up!”
Pendragon lifted his visor to see the sky filled with kites of all shapes and sizes, twirling and spinning in the wind. They were being flown by children, high upon the rooftop of a seven-story building. Goldfish, phoenixes, dragons, worms, serpents, and whales all soared in the air above him, their paper bodies glowing with captured sunlight as they spun with the wind in an aerial ballet.
“This way to the castle—I know a shortcut,” said Donnie. “Get back, all of you!” he yelled, pushing the crowd aside as he led the party down a narrow side street. They built the buildings tall in the Talon to deal with the ever-expanding population. Flowers hung from window boxes overhead and a warm wind rained petals upon them as they were blown through the manmade valley.
The Talon was composed of an odd mix of building styles, elven columns clashing with the arched roofs of the Glass Empire or the gold and silver domes of the Firelands. One particularly odd building stuck out to Pendragon, a Church of Cambrian built in the stepped-pyramid style of Azmire. The pyramid fit oddly in the shadows between the apartment towers.
When the Vaetorians had arrived in the Talon, they’d found a solitary cliff jutting above the sea. Over decades they’d carved the mountainous cliff until they reached the ocean. During low tide they had chipped away the rock until Castle Leviathan stood upon thick legs of stone over the water. It was a testament to the brilliance of Vaetorian stone workers and engineers that the columns somehow supported the castle’s massive weight.
“You there,” said a castle guard dressed in full plate and holding a curved halberd. “State your business.”
“I am Clark Pendragon and I require a word with the Duke,” said the Dragon Knight.
“You’ve arrived unannounced and unexpected. You will state your business,” said the guard again.
“He’s Pendragon,” interjected Donnie. “There might not be an Amernia if not for him. He doesn’t have to answer to you.”
“No, but you do,” snapped the castle guard. “And you would do well to remember your place.”
“I think we are getting off on the wrong foot,” said Pendragon. “Thank you, Donnie, but I have no problem explaining myself. I have been held captive for some time. After the death of the Archduke I was kidnapped by a group of elfkin calling themselves the Wild Hunt. You may have heard of them. I escaped and made my way here. I was hoping my old friend Prosper would spare a moment of his time so that I can explain to him where I’ve been and hopefully lead an assault against the subhuman bastards.”
“If you were kidnapped, how’d you get your armor back?” asked one of the castle guards, narrow-eyed.
“Their leader took it as a trophy. I stole it back… after I killed him, of course.”
“What do you think?” one of the castle guards asked the other. “Do we risk it?”
His companion shrugged. “He looks the part, and he’s got the armor and sword. If he’s legit we’ll get in more trouble if we don’t let him in.”
“All right, Pendragon,” said the first guard. “One wrong move and we’ll run you through.”
An arched bridge marked the entrance to Castle Leviathan, which was square and towering. “I think it’s time for us to part ways,” said Donnie as the ocean crashed beneath them.
“Thank you, Sir Donnie,” said Pendragon with a nod as Sir Donnie made his leave. He shot a look over the side of the bridge to see that the underbelly of the castle had been blocked off by a cage of interlocking iron bars as thick as a tree trunk. That’s… disconcerting, thought Pendragon as he was directed into the castle.
The inside of Castle Leviathan was essentially one huge room, big enough to stand two dreadnoughts side by side on their ends. In the center of the room was a massive hole that had been carved through the brightly polished stone. Pendragon shot a glance into it as he was ushered across the hall, and saw only seawater hidden in shadow. There were no subjects nor guards in the hall, only Quintero, who sat eating his meal at a vacant table. “Pendragon,” said the Duke without an ounce of surprise. “Have a seat.” Pendragon obliged. “The pair of you are excused,” said Quintero. The guards were not keen to leave. “Go on,” said Quintero with a wave of his hand.
Prosper Quintero was the bastard of the long-dead Antonio Quintero. Antonio had had a liking for black serving girls, which, at the time, had been taboo. Fortunately, Prosper’s mother was the only one he had managed to get pregnant. When Amernia had rebelled against Vaetor, Antonio had met the fate of many other dukes and was put to the sword along with his many legitimate white children. That left Prosper Quintero as the only living heir to Castle Leviathan. Prosper had inherited his mother’s black skin, but nothing else from either parent.
“You’re interrupting my dinner, Pendragon,” said Quintero. “Are you hungry, Clark? You look like you’ve traveled half the country to get here.”
“No, thank you,” said Pendragon. “I ate before I came.”
“Pity,” said Quintero, slicing of a piece of mahimahi with a silver knife and eating it. “My chef makes the most amazing lemon-butter sauce.” He wiped his hands on the napkin tucked into his collar before scratching the little snowballs of hair on his scalp. “You know people have been looking for you, Clark?”
“I’ve heard.”
“Yes,” he said, stripping fish flesh from bone. “Of course you have.” Quintero took a moment to chew and wash his fish down with wine. “Why are you arriving unannounced and uninvited in my hall?” He pushed the plate away and tossed his napkin casually aside. “Not that I’m not glad to see you. It’s just bad manners. I hate bad manners.”
Pendragon took a moment to collect his words.
I have to be careful with Quintero, thought Pendragon. He’s going to analyze every word, and if I speak out of line he’ll strike like a serpent. “I would have given you notice, but I’ve been rather indisposed recently. And the information I carry is sensitive. A courier could have been caught and tortured, and sprites can be intercepted.”
“Fair enough,” said Quintero. “The great Pendragon is now delivering his own messages? How the mighty have fallen.” He ran his hand down the shaft of a spear resting against the corner of the table. “Then again, these are turbulent times. Tell me, what could be so important that it brought you back from the dead?”
“Are we alone?” asked Pendragon.
“We are,” said Quintero. “I prefer my silence.”
“Within the next few days the Wild Hunt will lay siege to Norfield.”
“So what?” said Prosper. “If they do they will fail. No one has ever taken Norfield and no one ever will. It can’t be taken.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” said Pendragon. “They have sorcerers with them, a witch called Pierah and an elf named Calcifer. You may have heard of them?”
“Calcifer. The one they call the Bottler? He has a house on the south side, bought it a year or so ago. Pierah isn’t a name I recognize.”
“No one does. I believe it’s an alias, but she’s an elf and almost as powerful as Calcifer. She was Phineas’s assassin.”
“You think the Wild Hunt is going to take Norfield? Former seat of the mighty Vaetorians?” asked Quint
ero, his eyes narrowing. “I find that highly unlikely, even with magical help. A year ago the Wild Hunt was just an old elf legend. Nothing more. Every now and then a group of idealistic youths get together and call themselves revolutionaries, and every now and then we remind them of their place.”
“Rebel like we did when we threw out the Vaetorians?”
“That was completely different,” said Quintero. “The Vaetorians were trying to combat the plague when we rebelled. Is there another plague in Amernia? I see no plague.”
“No plagues, only Nixus,” said Pendragon. “Which is worse? We destroyed the elfkin’s homes and sent them scattering. It was only a matter of time until they took arms. The Wild Hunt has an army of over five hundred. I suspect that if they successfully take Norfield, that number will grow. And if they take Norfield they won’t stop. There will be another war.”
“So be it,” said Quintero.
“But it may not come to that,” continued Pendragon. “Evrill was planning on calling a diplomatic meeting to try to resolve the conflict peacefully.”
“Evrill?” asked Quintero, his eyes widening. “Yes… She would be the one to assume every problem can be solved with kind words over dinner. I never understood how a woman with such an academically gifted mind could be so daft when it comes to understanding the ways of men.”
“I’m not saying I believe her plan will work,” said Pendragon. “Minerva is only capable of caving so much. She might meet some of the Wild Hunt’s demands. But not all, and not nearly enough to calm them. It will take decades for the scars of the Green War to fade.”
“And here I was beginning to think you’re terribly out of touch, Clark.”
“I’m not,” said Pendragon. “I believe that that they will take Amernia—if not now, then soon.”
“Wishful thinking?”
There was a silence as the two men stared at each other. “Yes.”