by Quil Carter
I remember my song:
In the dark of the forest’s Pyre,
The cold, damp grounds we’re free,
Arise in draken fire, from nostril and mouth,
The Stomping Serpents’ feed,
Our enemies writhe in nightmares’ bed,
A demenos on their chest,
For they see our Draken King arise,
To feed upon their flesh.
The tongues of snakes, the tongues of fire,
Whips strike the flesh of elves,
King Erick, Lord of the Serpents, shall rise from ash,
Blood flows free as his iron delves,
The gods’ chosen Draken sits as king,
On the mighty black ivory throne,
Blessed by Xalis and Darsheive, the Lord of the Draken stomps,
Amongst the blackened bone.
They wrote songs for you… they sing your praises, they wait for your command, these ‘priests’ had hissed into his ear.
Though that was never the case…
And that thought rested most bitter inside of King Erick’s head.
Erick looked to his side as he felt Sweeny’s robes brush up against his arm. He had told his servant to step back; the council was starting to question him always being around. But the servant didn’t listen. Probably because he knew Erick wanted him near. Sweeny always seemed to know what his king needed.
As Erick predicted in his own thoughts The Stomping Serpent started to sound from the Serpent’s throats. The same low growl he had remembered, the same thumping. The energy flowing around them like wine – however the wine had now turned. The songs no longer filled Erick with joy, with power, with optimism.
Now it made him nauseous.
“Have you taken ill, Your Grace?” Krafter said to his left. Or Xalis as Erick now knew he really was. The priest was dressed in flowing black robes, with gold thread twisted around patterns of thorns and leaves.
Xalis’s priest’s circlet was also gold and full of thorns. Black and gold, the colours of Xal’Crith. A kingdom that wielded a black flag with a gold dragon that had a long thorny bramble twisted around his body. He had been a priest from Xal’Crith, Krafter had told him, before Erick even knew what Xal’Crith was. The priest had told him on earth that he was sent by the gods… sent by the gods to bring in a new age to Alcove.
Erick of House Zahn… the chosen one.
“No,” Erick said simply, answering the false priest’s question.
Our enemies writhe in nightmares’ bed,
A demenos on their chest,
Erick couldn’t help but smirk. Xalis and Darsheive had written the song no doubt, and implanted it in the Serpents’ heads when they were being brainwashed. It was more of a song for them than to Erick. Oh, how naive he was… in the beginning, during the first year of his rebellion he was led to believe the Serpents were his through loyalty. Not brainwashed and mind-raped. How foolish he had been…
Everything had been fabricated, everything was created by the twin gods.
Everything.
But why?
The twins wanted the jewel.
Blessed by Xalis and Darsheive, the Lord of the Draken stomps,
Amongst the blackened bone.
Keleon, who had been sitting behind Erick, rose and clapped, as did the others. Erick remained seated. The king did not rise often and he would not today. He was tired, though he tried to put on a pleased face for the nobles. It was only for them though, the Serpents minds were torn to ribbons now; they only knew pleasing their king. He could piss on their faces and they would call it a blessing.
“My king, let us retreat into the hall,” Keleon said with a bow.
Keleon… how I hate you, Keleon. They should have made you king, not me. But you would’ve never listened to priests. Perhaps that’s why they needed a stupid human. You wouldn’t have had to heed their counsel though, you would’ve burnt, raped, pillaged, and killed on your very own. You hated Alcove as much as the twins did. I never did figure out why, never cared.
Erick gave his nod of approval and got up off of his seat. One of crushed blue velvet, warmed with chaestones for the frozen king, and elaborate snake-carved armrests, probably made out of Crithian silver. Another thing he was once awed over.
Such beauty to rest my ass upon, so much luxury for a pawn dressed as a king.
The Jaded King… screw the Draken King, this shall be my new title if I survive this.
Erick walked into the fort, his buzzing birds around him, chattering amongst themselves. Half of them were brainwashed; the other half enemies of Calin who had been chomping at the bit at the chance to overthrow him. Alcove was no fantasy land with a good king ruling peaceful elves. Erick had been surprised at how many had bowed him when he came storming through with his Serpents, accalites, and abominations.
Alcove had split overnight. Erick remembered well the night the flames rose so high they touched the stars. The mountain itself was aflame in the darkness, the town below as well. The smell of burnt flesh stayed in the Avarice Forest for weeks.
The black ivory throne had still been hot when Erick had sat down in it. He’d been cackling away at his own success, not knowing it was all the twins’ doing.
He remembered being so pleased with himself that night. So deluded that it had been him and only him. Erick Zahn, the chosen one, the Draken King.
Look at me now, Ben – look at me now. Look at what your older, loser of a brother has become.
Oh, how he wished he could have shown Ben just what he had done with his life when he’d first taken Alcove. That he had not only made something of his miserable existence – he’d become king.
Erick of House Zahn had been touched by the gods.
Fucked by the twins more like it. Bent over, hand shoved up my ass so I’d make a suitable puppet.
And I made such a fine puppet…
I performed, I sung, I danced. I had done everything they wanted.
“Our ravens are confirming Lord Desa has made for Valewind, more specifically Rhastt,” a general that Erick didn’t recognize said. They were in the hall now. A detailed model of Alcove in front of him. It had little model trees, towns, forests, and mountains. Small red flags were planted all around, some so clustered they looked like little pools of blood. “There is a lot of upset over the takeover of Azrayne, Philrick missing, and Arganti mysteriously killed, which is only fuelling our belief that a rebellion is starting. There are many reasons right now for one to develop and the fact that we’re seeing the lords gather in Rhastt is only strengthening that belief.”
“What about our last Hold Lord, Lord Fraust?” Erick asked. He wished Keleon would just talk for him. He didn’t care about the rebellion; he probably would be dead by then.
“Lord Fraust is still in Trostere… and that’s it for the Hold Lords. Since we have Kirick there has been no word on Azrayne’s successor. But… Korivander… we need to discuss him.”
This caught Erick’s attention. He looked over at the general, seeing him for the first time. He was a dark-haired Dashavian with one eye missing; he looked battle-scarred but fierce. Erick found himself straightening up in front of him, suddenly feeling self-conscious about himself.
You’re a damn king… act like it! Fall apart in your chambers later…
“What about Korivander?”
“King Korivander hasn’t left Rhastt yet.”
Erick’s eyes narrowed. “I believe I was briefed on the reason he was there. Didn’t he lose a son and a daughter in an accident?”
The one-eyed Dashavian nodded. “We received a hawk from Korivander himself with the news. Princess Aurelle was killed and Prince Taugis was blamed for negligence causing her death. He was exiled but it is of little importance. He was no heir, just a chedni spare. That being said, King Korivander will no doubt use the family tragedy as an excuse to stay in Rhastt and stay for the council.”
Erick’s face became stormy. This council with the Hold Lords he had bee
n hearing about had been a small worry; Erick hadn’t had any real concerns over it. The Hold Lords, except for Philrick, had all bowed to him, freely letting the Serpents into their holds, and for their compliance they were left alone, starving, miserable, and at Erick’s mercy – but left alone.
The Lelanders had never been a real worry either, just Korivander, though he was more an annoying gnat than a threat. The Lelan Islands and Lord Kordalis Luceon would never consent to a rebellion from their king. King Korivander could bark the order but then what? Erick would burn their ships, take back the hold in Jare and then… nothing. Lelan was fractured into many pieces and their main island far away on the east coast. The Lelanders were no threat…
But that still didn’t mean that Erick should turn a blind eye to the Lelan King coming to the council. Erick’s killing of Arganti and taking down Azrayne was supposed to be a show of his power over the Hold Lords and him no longer tolerating Lord Philrick living inside his magical barrier in pure defiance of King Erick.
Now it looked to indeed be sparking a new rebellion.
But what does it matter?
Who cares?
These are little pawns shifting around their boards, waiting for me to pick them off one by one. I have twin gods who have just snuck back into Elron with a brand-new prophecy book that may very well lead them to their father’s jewel.
That gods-be-damned jewel… it was supposed to be mine. That prophecy was supposed to be for me. I haven’t even been able to look at my own prophecy book.
Gods are now playing the gods’ games – how unconventional
“Is there any sign that they know that the jewel has resurfaced?” Erick asked. “Is this council in Rhastt just because of the assassination on Lord Ahren and Azrayne falling or could they also know a prophecy that is supposed to stop me, with the help of the Jewel of Elron, is also being written?”
“We cannot know for sure, Your Grace,” Keleon said. “But we will plant snakes in Rhastt to get this information on you. I agree if there is a council, we must know what the remaining Hold Lords know. If they know the jewel is back in Elron it will get them a lot of support from their bannerelves and it might also convince the Lelan Islands and Lord Kordalis to agree to war as well.”
Erick nodded. “And it would be stupid to see if our auchtr could see what their prophecy text says? I cannot read what is in the Anean Prophecies? Even with a powerful mage?”
Is the twins’ prophecy book called something different? Or is it the same book but only they can read the passages? I don’t know – they won’t let me look!
Keleon paused again, no doubt conflicted over agreeing that something the king had said was stupid, but he regained himself. “No, my king. It is impossible to read what the Anean Prophecies are saying to the prophecy walkers.”
Erick’s eyes found the priests. The twin gods. They didn’t break character but both their eyes were on him. Ice-blue, almost white, Crithian eyes, and blood-red Dashavian were both burrowing into him.
He stared back, wishing they would just tell him what he was supposed to say. They wanted the damn jewel; he was their pawn. This was their prophecy. All from a book handed to them by Kelakheva himself. What was he supposed to do? Their agenda was now making his job a lot worse.
“Are we strong enough, as it stands, to fight a rebellion with not only the bannerelves they’d be able to gather inside of Alcove but the armies of Lelan as well?”
“If they’re too numerous, we will just create more allies,” Stolas quietly spoke. Stolas, or Darsheive, had his hands folded over his black and red robes. He looked unmoved with the councilelves around him. Still like a statue, like he had always been in that hall and always will. The god was like a rock, though in the tales Darsheive had always been more silent and reserved than his chaotic brother. He was the silent killer, a manipulative mad god who’d make you skin yourself alive while he looked on with a smile; Xalis ripped your guts out and ate them while you watched.
“Create? Out of thin air?” Keleon said with an edge to his tone.
Yes, Keleon. They’re gods – right out of fucking thin air.
“We have many animals in the forest surrounding us that we can use. Raptorlizards have been a problem, no? Why not give them a feast? The manticores we can use, the gruleon, dryder, korpions. Or we can bring in more accalites… the list goes on, Grand Master Keleon.”
Keleon sniffed at the air. “My Serpents will not need additional help. We have thirty thousand elves at our disposal.”
“The Lelanders have ships and they could sail them to the Sake, then it is only a short trek to the Avarice Forest through the Eliaan Pass,” the one-eyed Dashavian pointed out.
“Then, like Priest Stolas said, we can feed them to those abominations brought in from Xal’Crith and Kar’Endia. The ones who do survive would be picked off before they even got to the Pyre’s gates,” Keleon said. “They don’t have enough resources to attack us, not without the aid of Darancove, Evercove, or Dashavia and none of them have shown an interest in aiding a rebellion before and they won’t now.”
“I want snakes in Rhastt either way,” Erick said, looking at the map. He rested his finger on top of the small red flag that was stuck in the large Valewind town. “I want to know what they’re planning. I want to know what they know about the jewel and if the prophecy walkers have been there.”
This is pointless… so pointless.
But I still have to be king – I still have to keep up appearances, even if I am only a human pawn wearing a king’s mask.
“Yes, Your Grace. I commend you on your words, you are a war lord on top of an admirable and mighty king.” The Dashavian general’s piercing eye never left him as he bowed.
I am but a human…
I was never anything more.
As soon as King Erick’s litter reached the Pyre, he stepped out and made his way back to his chambers. He was tired, the journey through the Fraust Road to Fort Holt was always an exhausting one. Royal escorts had to be arranged, the king’s Sentinels had to be summoned, and banners had to be carried. They always had to put on a show for the lowborns and nobles in the town below them. Another thing that Erick had at first loved, now it was just a nuisance. It would be easier for the priests to just translocate him to the fort, but, of course, he had to be seen. He had to show the public that he was still a strong leader, still in good health, still of firm mind and body. His disappearances during court had been noted and Keleon and Zel Salix had already cautioned him on keeping appearances.
The politics of leading Alcove were grating and annoying, nothing like he had first imagined the stormy night the priests had brought him to Elron.
Everything seemed to have lost its magic after finding out about Xalis and Darsheive. He had felt like nothing but a scared fraud since the gods had appeared in front of him. He was no king, no chosen one. His council, his Serpents, everyone in the Pyre were either brainwashed or out for themselves. They cared nothing for him. The king didn’t rule Alcove, the council whispering in his ear ruled Alcove.
Or in his case – bored gods.
It had saddened Erick more than he cared to admit to himself. He had been fooled, with no one to understand his plight but Sweeny. The squire had become more than just his servant lately, he had become his confidant and though Erick had trouble admitting it… his friend.
Sweeny sprinted ahead and opened the doors for him. Erick dismissed all of his guard, except the two that would guard his door, and went inside his royal chambers.
“Do you want wine, Your Grace?” Sweeny asked as he gently unlatched the clasps that were securing King Erick’s cloak.
“I want something stronger… I need to relax,” Erick said with a sigh. He took the crown off of his head and handed it to Sweeny as well; it seemed to double in weight since his reality check. How suiting.
Sweeny placed the cloak on an iron coat hook beside the door and the crown on top of a holder on Erick’s dresser. He then opened the dres
ser drawer and took out a small vial with clear liquid inside.
“Would you like me to put some veha smoke on a cloth for you?” Sweeny asked. Erick had only indulged in this Dashavian drug several times in the past year but it always seemed to calm him when he was at his most distressed. “Or perhaps you would like me to massage your back with some chaestones?”
Erick, who was now laying on his stomach on his giant bed, made of blackwood with the bedframe of twisted iron rungs, looked over at Sweeny. “Yes to the chaestones, no to the alters. I cannot be drugged out of my mind right now. The twins could bash their way through this door any moment now and torture me for their own amusement. If they do, I at least want to have the wits enough to jump off of the balcony to save myself the pain.”
Sweeny made a nervous noise in his throat. He slipped the bottle into his trouser pocket in case Erick changed his mind while he was massaging him, and grabbed the hot chaestones resting in a ceramic bowl on the edge of the fireplace. He quickly sprinted to Erick’s bed as the hot stones burned his skin and placed them onto Erick’s black dragon-phoenix feather comforter with golden trim.
To Sweeny’s surprise Erick rolled onto his back. Usually when he was massaging his king he was on his stomach and Sweeny was straddling his back.
And to further drive the shock into the squire – Erick took his shirt off, exposing his firm chest to him, flecked with a thin spread of chest hair which disappeared at his stomach, only to appear again below his naval to travel down to… to–
Sweeny swallowed. Erick’s trousers had pulled down lower than they should be from the way he had shifted himself onto his back. He could see the curved lines of his torso that framed his private area and the shining strands of his lower hair.
“Sweeny?” Erick said. “You’ve seen me naked more than enough times when you’ve bathed me and dressed me, stop staring at me like a –” Then the king smirked as Sweeny’s eyes shifted away and he got one of the chaestones, obviously flustered. “– like a damn teenager.”