Starfall (The Fables of Chaos Book 1)

by Jackson Simiana

Isec had already had to order the discontinuation of all the celebrations in the city after the prince’s maiming, and organise the city watch to maintain the peace while also ensuring the protection of the royal families back inside the fortress.

  The stress had left Isec with a splitting headache, as if a hammer were repeatedly bashing him in the temple.

  “I spoke the truth, father! I did what I had to do!” Wesley said, breaking the silence he had maintained since injuring the prince. His eyes were bloodshot from crying and liquid ran from the boy’s nose, like that of a bubbling child.

  Tobius arose suddenly and was mere inches away from Wesley; Isec was half expecting the king to strike his son, but he didn’t.

  “This wasn’t some lowborn thug you injured, boy! You cleaved the arm off the prince of fucking Ashen!” Tobius barked.

  “He took her from me!” Wesley snapped back.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake! So, you lost your favourite cunt to play with! I’ll get you another!”

  Isec could not help but sneer at the king’s words yet did well to hide it from sight. The last thing he wanted was Tobius going after him as well.

  Tobius continued spouting his fiery words while pacing back and forth. “I found you a young, fertile princess who happened to be from Alyria’s most powerful family. But instead, you decide to attack her brother and fuck her sister-by-law! Were you dropped on your head as a babe, boy?”

  Wesley shook his head from side to side, weeping into his hands. “I…I’m sorry, father.”

  The king fell back into his throne, clenching his fists on the armrests. He looked away from his son as he spoke more calmly this time. “Now, we’ve lost everything. Emery leaves for Dawnhill with his miserable family. Our new alliance is all but terminated. The king wants you tried and locked away and I’d have half a mind to do as he says!”

  Wesley did not reply. Sen Dorval remained at his post, silent as a corpse.

  Isec stepped in. “Surely, we can claim it was some sort of accident?” The king listened intently as Isec spoke. “We would need to bribe the herald in order to have him testify that it was only part of the duel, that the victor had not yet been officially called.”

  “Threatening the herald would be more sufficient to maintain his silence, I’d bet,” Tobius said. “Fear speaks louder than money.”

  “However… I doubt King Emery would settle for that,” Isec added. “We all heard the judgement. We saw it with our own eyes.”

  “That we did,” Tobius said, glaring back at his son.

  “And yet the prince lost an arm.”

  “That he did.”

  “What of my wife…Ciana?” Wesley chimed in.

  Isec had been wondering the same thing. The Blacktrees were leaving the city as they spoke, with good reason. Petir was in bad shape after his maiming, and Emery wanted his kin out of Caldaea. Who could blame him?

  But it begged the question of what was to happen with the new marriage.

  Tobius rubbed his forehead. “She is still your wife, for now. Emery requested to take her with him back to Ashen, but I will not have it. You underwent the Bleeding. You gave the sacrifice; you consummated the marriage. She is yours. I have her confined to her quarters. She will be under guard day and night. I’m not letting her get away from us.”

  Isec added. “Knowing Emery, however, I doubt he will settle for that.”

  “What would you have me do? Hand her back over, Batir?” Tobius barked.

  Isec shook his head.

  Tobius continued. “Emery will attempt to annul the wedding. He can use this claim that you were having relations with Jodie Blacktree as reason to do so. The claim that you so elegantly decided to share with half the bloody kingdom.”

  Wesley did not seem to react at all. Isec did not know whether to pity the prince or despise him.

  “You’ve given the man ample reason to void your marriage. Alas, there is nothing more we can do as of this moment. Go back to your chambers, boy, and do not leave until I give you permission to, is that understood?” Tobius said.

  “B-but…” Wesley stuttered, “My wife is there. She-”

  “She is probably quite upset by her brother’s violent injury and being forced to stay in Andervale. Worried for his safety, and all that nonsense. Go and comfort her, and for Moon Mother’s sake, go impregnate the bitch. We need something to tie her down to Camridia.”

  Wesley was at a loss for words, but before he could even say anything in response, Sen Dorval stepped forward and practically dragged the prince from the throne room by his arm. The hefty doors were shut behind them.

  Isec and the king were alone.

  Tobius smacked his fist down against his throne. “Damn that boy,” he said. “He will be the death of me.”

  “I fear he will be the death of us all, my king,” Isec said.

  Tobius didn’t even bother coming up with anything as a defence. The king had always been willing to listen to the captain’s insight and knowledge, despite him not being an official advisor.

  Tobius seemed to be able to sense that Isec had good intentions for everyone, and for their kingdom, and for that he allowed him to be more honest and open than he would for others.

  “What of the Blacktrees?” Tobius asked.

  “I have my men escorting them from the city as we speak. The prince is in a bad way. Lost a lot of blood, incredible pain. The barons of Ashen who attended the wedding are leaving with them.”

  Tobius nodded. “And what of Jodie Blacktree?”

  “We believe that she has fled the city, my king. She’s probably wanting to return home to Stonebridge.”

  “What?” Tobius blabbered. “Why would she run?”

  Isec shrugged. “That I cannot be certain of, my king. If I must take a guess, I’d say that she is fearful of any repercussions from the Blacktrees over the rumours of her and Prince Wesley. The allegiance between the Mannerings and the Blacktrees, as with our own peace with the Blacktrees, is up in flames, my king.”

  “All because she couldn’t keep her damned legs shut. She was to be the next queen of Ashen as well! Stupid girl.”

  A city watchman burst through the throne room doors, red-faced. “My king!”

  “What? What is it?”

  “My king, a message from Dawnhill has arrived via hawk,” the watchman gasped, jogging up to the throne with a piece of parchment. He handed it to the king, who unrolled it.

  Tobius’s eyes went wide as he scanned the message.

  “What does it read?” Isec asked. “Surely it can’t be in relation to Petir. Our hawks would not have reached Dawnhill yet with the message of his maiming.”

  “It’s not about Petir,” Tobius murmured, rubbing his sun-spotted forehead. “Bring in the scribe and my advisors.”

  Isec, growing worried, did as he was ordered. He sent for the king’s two advisors who were waiting patiently outside the throne room to enter.

  The advisors, a tall skeleton of a man with black, beady eyes named Oren Harrin, and the older, conniving, shrew-faced Hart Moralis, both bowed to their king, before taking positions at the base of the throne’s dais. The scribe sat back down at his table with a new ink pot.

  Oren Harrin dragged in a small cart of old books which he took everywhere he went, containing written records and details of the kingdom’s dealings. When he wasn’t speaking to somebody, he had his head stuck between those pages.

  “How can we be of service, my king?” Hart Moralis asked. His overly aristocratic eastern accent had always sounded like silverware on a plate to Isec’s ears.

  Tobius unrolled the message. “We have received a hawk from Dawnhill. It contains… troubling news.”

  Hart Moralis stepped forward. “Whatever it is, we are here to help serve you, my king.” Moralis’ robes were as black as night, with elegant silver embroidery around the trim and pearls lining the cuffs. The man had a delicacy for the expensive.

  Tobius coughed up something from his throat into his handkerchie
f before reading the message aloud.

  “From Ser Jyra Leona, Commander of the Dawnhill City Guard. On the night of the thirty-third lunar duality of this year, a trading vessel travelling at high speeds crashed into the Crown Bay docks. As of writing, we have counted at least thirty casualties. Several blocks of the city were heavily damaged as a result.”

  A bead of sweat rolled down Tobius’s plump face. He continued, “The trading vessel, identified as The Blue Intrepid, is a ship registered to the Kingdom of Caldaea. We know not whether this was some accident, or potentially an attack on the sovereignty and the peoples of the Kingdom of Ashen. As a precaution to protect our borders, the Ashen Navy will be actively patrolling our waterways until further notice.

  “No ship may enter Crown Bay without first receiving approval from Dawnhill officials and being inspected by officers of our navy. No vessels of any kind registered under the Kingdom of Caldaea are permitted to enter Crown Bay until further notice.”

  Tobius scrunched up the parchment and tossed it aside.

  “They can’t do that; half of our trade is through Dawnhill! The kingdom will fall into ruin!” Oren Harrin gasped. He pulled out a pair of thick-lensed glasses and began flipping pages through one of the books he had brought in.

  Isec could see the man doing the calculations in his head of what this would cost the crown. But who was going to speak up for the people that this decision would devastate?

  “Not to mention, tens-of-thousands owe their livelihoods to trade with Ashen,” Isec added. “Farmers, fishers, wineries, tailors, cobblers, the traders themselves. The lowborns in the kingdom rely on our dealings with Ashen.”

  “I know, I know!” Tobius said, throwing his hands up.

  Hart Moralis stepped in, calm and delicate as ever as he spoke. “It is nothing more than a mere show of force, my king.”

  “It is a slap to Caldaea’s face,” Tobius spat. “And now with their prince’s injury, I fear that this cut to our trade lines may be permanent.”

  Oren Harrin shook his head, as if not being able to comprehend it any further. The skeletal man was panicked.

  “My king, the crown cannot survive this. It would shatter our economy. The peasantry will be in an uproar- and who will they turn to to blame for their starving and their poverty?” Oren Harrin gasped.

  “Us,” Hart Moralis said coolly.

  Isec gulped. What on Eos is going to happen to us?

  Tobius huffed. “Moon Mother, protect us all. I sense great peril on Alyria’s horizon. The Broken Coast faces invasion from a foreign empire. Camridia’s queen is dead, and the king will soon follow her. And now Ashen breaks its ties with Caldaea and the Midlands and has effectively ruined the very prosperity that I have been building, stone by stone, for the last thirty fucking years.”

  “We need to act now, my king,” Isec said sternly. “We cannot sit back and allow this to happen. Surely we can send word to our emissaries to come to some sort of arrangement with Ashen.”

  Hart Moralis winced. “I’m afraid, that is not possible.”

  The king raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”

  “I just received a message from our emissaries in Dawnhill, only minutes ago,” Hart Moralis said with a sigh. “The city guard is forcing them out as we speak. After the ‘attack’ on Crown Bay, as they are labelling it, the Commander is not taking any chances until the king returns. Our diplomats have been ordered to leave Dawnhill.”

  “Fuck it!” Tobius shouted. “Those shit-eating rats are cutting us off!”

  “They are scapegoating us,” Oren Harris realised.

  Hart Moralis nodded, tapping his fingers against the back of his hand. “And with Prince Wesley having attacked Prince Petir, I fear that Ashen now has more than sufficient reason to completely sever ties with us.”

  Isec could not believe what he was hearing. “What do we do?” he said.

  “Captain,” Tobius said, “close off the city. I want no Blacktree within a fucking mile of us at any time, you hear me? Moralis, send a message to Dawnhill. Tell them I request a meeting with King Emery in ten days’ time on neutral grounds. I wager that will give him enough time to have calmed down.

  “Batir, I want you to gather a small force to bring with us. A thousand men should be plenty. We will not be attending any armistice without reinforcements. Harrin, prepare the navy. Every ship must be manned and out at sea from here on out. I am not taking a fucking chance with these bastards.”

  “And what are we preparing for, exactly?” Oren Harrin said.

  “Anything… anything and everything.” The king rose and hobbled out of the throne room.

  Isec attempted to make out the king’s rambling whispers, but his efforts were futile.

  Bring a small army to an armistice? Preparing the navy for war? Has he truly lost it this time?

  Chapter 27 - Dead Man Walking

  Tomas shuffled forward in what felt to be an endless march, with ankles and wrists chained together. He had spent much of the journey with his head down, staring at his own shoes. The world seemed to pass by in a constant blur.

  Nothing mattered anymore. Rilan was gone, dead. Left to rot in the snow. They hadn’t even had time to dig him or the others who had been killed a proper grave.

  He couldn’t believe it. At first, he was certain that it was some sort of vivid nightmare. But as the days passed, the realisation became more and more apparent.

  Rilan was gone.

  Tomas’s bandaged fists were aching terribly after lashing out at Ref on the night of the attack. His knuckles were split and swollen beneath the linens, yet the pain was somehow numb.

  Numb in comparison to the ache he felt inside.

  A familiar voice spoke at him. “Tomas, we need you to help guide us. We know not which path to take next.” It was Landry.

  Captain Gharland’s company had made it to the foothills of the Creator’s Fist- the long mountain range that split the north of Alyria in two.

  Mooncrest Mountain, their destination, was still a ways off but rose from the snowy landscape before them like an imposing goliath of stone and ice.

  The foothills of the mountains were a labyrinth of rocky cliffs and gullies, stripped bare of most vegetation by blasts of icy winds. The land itself appeared dead.

  “Tomas, please. Say something. We need your help,” Landry begged, patting Tomas on the shoulder. He refused to speak.

  He thought back to Winterglade. The warmness of the inn they had stopped at. His conversations with the barmaid Hila. Her gorgeous smile and her soft lips against his cheek.

  He thought back to Hollowhill. The tide of refugees fleeing their burning town.

  The boy.

  The boy Tomas had ridden past, with a pale face smeared in sweat and soot and tattered pieces of material for clothing.

  He wondered where the boy was now? Had he found his family? Had the beef jerky he had given to the boy been enough to ward off starvation?

  Other, darker fears breached Tomas’s mind.

  Had the cold gotten him? Was he alone some place? Or perhaps the Akurai invaders had found him and butchered him. Or worse.

  “Tomas? Speak to me.”

  The voice was ghostly. So distant, so far away. A place Tomas felt he would never be able to return to. Not now, not after all that had happened.

  Tomas had tried explaining to the others what had happened during the attack with those creatures, how Ref had stabbed Rilan during the attack.

  He was the only one to have seen it.

  His efforts were futile- the hunting knife that Ref had used was flung from his hands when Tomas had tackled him and was lost amongst the snow and debris of the camp.

  No one could account for how Rilan had died, but Ref, through his bloodied smile and broken face, had insisted it was one of those monsters, and he was only trying to help the boy.

  A blatant lie.

  Landry had stood up for Tomas, corroborating the story of Ref and Styna’s previous attack on Rila
n. But the men were at odds, and the captain was having none of it. He refused to believe either Ref or Tomas. No soldier in his company would dare murder another, the captain believed.

  Ref requested to have Tomas executed for attacking him. Gharland instead ordered Landry to chain the grieving boy up.

  “We still need him.”

  It had left Tomas feeling hopeless and alone, imprisoned in both mind and body. The shackles against his skin only heightened the ones tightening in his subconscious.

  Onwards they had trudged through the snowy forest and into the foothills of the Fist, where the path branched out into various unmarked routes.

  Then it hit him. Tomas remembered his key that he had brought from home, hanging from the steel chain around his neck.

  Where is it? In a panic, he felt for the key, but realised it was gone.

  “Landry,” Tomas whispered through his cracked lips. The squire looked relieved to see him finally speak. “Where are my things?”

  “Your things?” Landry gulped, unsure of what to say. He looked back at the survivours of the company who were arguing amongst themselves over which route to take, since their guide was refusing to give directions.

  “My chain. The one I had around my neck.”

  Landry scratched his head. “I don’t know, Tomas. The others stripped you of everything after they shackled you.”

  Tomas looked to the others in the party, feeling uneasy. Who could have his key? Captain Gharland? Or possibly even Ref?

  Smiling John sat in the snow, exhausted. He had survived his burns and was covered in ointments, dressings, and bandages. He glared at Tomas intensely.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. You must believe me. You need to unchain me,” Tomas begged. The skin on his wrists was raw and painful from the metal, and walking was difficult.

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “I need to get my things back.”

  “Right now, we need your help to find our way up the mountain, Tomas.”

  Tomas shook his head. “Why did you even bother to stand up for me if you don’t believe me?”

  “Because I don’t want to see you dead.”