The Forgotten Throne

by Elliot Burns

  Prologue

  In Royaume Online

  Something was wrong. Zylan could feel it like a blade tip on the back of his neck. The sensation that something was about to happen, or that a dark series of events were already in motion. He couldn't see anything untoward. The canyon was on his right, reaching up thirty feet and with yellow stones crumbling from it. The dirt road to Hereld was beneath him, the dust undisturbed since it saw few travelers.

  Niena didn’t seem to have noticed that anything was wrong, but she didn’t have the same sense of danger as him. She didn’t have the same fighter’s instincts, honed through decades of blood, swords, and fear. That was good. As much as he wanted his daughter to develop instincts, she was only 6. Better that she stayed that way for a while.

  She ran ahead of him, kicking up puffs of dust. He wanted to tell her to be careful, because to their left was a tangle of bushes. They were so old that the dry vines had twisted together to form one big bush thicket. They were adorned with thorns as big as Zylan’s hands. He couldn’t tell if these were poisoned-tipped. His herb lore had never been great, but he reasoned that the vines lining the only road to town wouldn’t be deadly.

  Either way, between the thorns and the canyon, their only escape was on the road forward. It meant there was little chance of danger waiting on either side. So why did he feel the gaze of eyes on his neck?

  His daughter had almost reached the turning ahead. He didn’t want her getting out of sight. His nerves twisted in his stomach, worse than even on the eve of the worst battles. Funny that he could face death and keep his cool, but the tension of getting the girl to safety made him sweat. He’d faced the arrows of Kral Gelp’s famous archers with nothing but his shield to deflect the volley. He’d stared into the eyes of a fifteen-foot Fire Bol, all leather hide and tight muscle, and he’d held his nerve. Yet the idea of not getting Niena to Helden before nightfall made his stomach turn to water.

  “Slow down a little, brat,” he said.

  Niena laughed. “Mother never called me a brat.”

  “Aye. She was too kind. She used to tell me she thought you were a brat, though.”

  Niena’s face froze as if she were wondering whether Zylan was telling the truth. Then, as if the answer dawned on her, she grinned.

  Despite the joking tone he made sure he gave, Zylan couldn’t help but feel sad. He always thought that life as a soldier would desensitize him to death, but this one had stabbed him deeply. He had to keep it together for Niena.

  “Seriously, slow down,” he said.

  Niena didn’t listen. Typical. She had her mother’s willfulness. Something Zylan used to hate when she was around, but he’d have given all the flek in the world to see it now. It was funny the things that you missed.

  As she rounded the corner out of view, Zylan picked up his pace. He guessed that the girl was as eager to get to Helden as he was. It wasn’t for sightseeing, though. Helden was as a ridiculously average place – average beer, average beds, average broads. But for those in the know, there was a secret life underneath. A network of thieves and assassins. Normally, Zylan would have avoided it like a blundertail plague, but he needed a smuggler.

  It all depended on getting there before nightfall. His contact was a sensitive guy, and he wouldn’t hang around after the sun disappeared. With that in mind, Zylan picked up his pace.

  “Zylan!”

  The shock in Niena’s voice sent a wave of cold through him. Something about looking after Niena shot fear through his veins worse than any battle he’d faced. It was the fragility of her; that one wrong move and she’d be gone.

  “Niena? What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t answer.

  As he followed the dirt path toward the turn, he realized he was sprinting. His chest tightened. His lung capacity was diminished from the tobacco he’d treated himself to after leaving the army. His brain fired thoughts through his head. It showed him fleeting images of Niena on the floor, bloody, eyes closed, her skin losing color.

  He realized that he was breathing through his mouth now, a classic sign of fatigue. He was going full sprint but the turning seemed to be coming in slow motion. Was this what it felt like to be a parent? Constantly on edge, wondering if this person you were responsible for was going to be in danger?

  “Niena?”

  The ice spread through him, but he cleared his mind. He listened to the wind shaking the leaves in the thicket next to him. He saw dust kick up under his feet. He focused on it until he could think of nothing else. It was a warrior’s trick. A way of emptying his mind so that any fear was gone, and he only concentrated on what he saw, heard, and smelled.

  He turned the corner, and then he stopped. Niena stood with her arms folded. She edged back toward him. Thank the Gods, she was alright. Not wanting to betray too much panic, he walked to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t run off like that,” he said.

  That was all the attention he could give her now, because something else stole it. The dirt road had widened by a foot. It extended into one long, straight line that would stay true in the ten miles left to Helden. In the middle of the road, just twelve meters away, the road was obstructed.

  “Is someone in there, Zylan?” asked Niena.

  “I told you - call me Father,” he sighed. His years of absence meant that Niena struggled to call him father, adding distance between them by using his forename.

  “What is it?” she said.

  It was a carriage. It was longer than the usual merchant transports that travelled the roads. The front extended to incorporate not a seat for a driver, but instead a steam engine. Wow. This was a rare sight – steam power was a luxury by anyone’s standard. The passenger compartment confirmed the class of the carriage. It was trimmed with a deep red satin fabric so expensive it would have taken Zylan a year on the road to pay for it. A wooden pole stuck out from the engine and rose six feet into the air, and there was a square board on the end of it. A pattern had been painted on it – a snake wrapped around a staff. Zylan didn’t recognize the sigil, so it couldn’t have been from any of the Lords or Krals he’d served.

  “Think there’s anyone inside?” said Niena. She took a step forward.

  Zylan put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t move. Stay right behind me.”

  Something about the vehicle made him reach for his sword. He stroked the hilt to make sure it was there. It was the way the carriage was placed – not facing forward or back, but instead it was horizontal across the road. There was no sign of life from within.

  He reached to his sheath and drew his sword. The blade was silent as it slid out of the leather. Zylan held it with a practiced grip, one that would allow him quick counter blows rather than power. There was something he’d always found reassuring about the coldness of steel.

  Niena walked forward again. She took two steps before he stopped her.

  “What are you doing?” he said.

  “Stop. Assess the threat. Look for escape routes,” she answered. She used the voice she affected whenever Zylan tried to teach her anything.

  He smiled. It was a mantra he repeated to her twice a day. He hoped that, along with the training he gave her, she would be able to take care of herself in an emergency. Right now, though, she was still a little girl who pretended to be tougher than she was.

  “Stay here.”

  Sword ready, Zylan took cautious steps toward the carriage. The air was silent, so much so that he could hear the beat of his own pulse in his ears. With every step toward the carriage he felt a weight of anticipation. There would be forest creatures around him; birds, rodents, you name it. Today, they were silent. It was like they were watching and waiting.

  Something was wrong.
With each step, he felt it. He scanned the carriage for any sign of movement, but saw nothing. He expected the fabric to ripple, for fingers to slowly creep out and pull it back to reveal the hideous…

  …the hideous what? Years of fighting had rotted his brain. That was why he always had the dreams of grey-faced monsters. He could picture them now; the skin on their lips rotted away. Teeth sharp enough to chew through skin like it was bread.

  But they were gone. Defeated long ago, and he was just having bad dreams. He’d probably fought a few years more than a warrior should and taken too many blows to the skull, but he didn’t have a choice. When Niena was conceived, he knew he needed to earn enough gold to safeguard her future.

  He took another step forward. The silence was more pronounced. He gripped the handle of his blade.

  “Zylan…”

  He ignored her for now. He was just feet away from the carriage. There something strange about the air around it. It was thicker, as though some kind of forcefield surrounded the carriage. What was it?

  And then it hit him. The stench of blood. A rotting smell. Sour, enough to make the acid bubble in most people’s stomachs, but not in his. For Zylan, the smell was a spark that lit up his instincts. He shifted the weight of his blade. He scanned around, but saw nothing.

  “Niena?” he said. He needed her now. She was too young to get involved in stuff like this, but there was no choice. “I need you to turn and watch the road behind us. Tell me if you see anything. And I mean anything.”

  “Is someone in there? Are they…dead?”

  When he got closer to the carriage, he started to see it. The fabric was a deep red, but there were darker stains on it. The more his eyes adjusted, the more he saw. He realized that the entire carriage was splattered with blood. A lot of it had already dried. In the parts where it was most concentrated, tiny drips fell from the corner of the satin and puddled on the ground.

  This had been a massacre. The color of the satin hid it from casual view, but just feet away he could see the spray of blood. They were the stains of violence that must have been frenzied and sustained. How many people had died? From the amount of blood, he could swear that it had been a dozen, but the carriage wouldn’t hold that many people. The occupants must have been torn apart with such force that every drop of blood was spilt.

  What the hell could have done this? Not a man. Not a blade. Certainly not the wolves or blundertails that roamed the nearby forests.

  “Niena. Turn back around and get here.”

  “I thought you wanted me to watch our rear?”

  “Now, Niena.”

  The canyon and thorn-filled thickets didn’t seem like protection from danger now. Instead, they felt like walls of a maze, placed there to trap him and his daughter. To keep them walking along a path that led to blood and mutilation. Drawing them forward, beckoning with clawed fingers.

  He had to look inside the carriage. He needed to see. He’d fought for 2 lords and 3 Krals in countless skirmishes over the last 40 years. He wouldn’t let a damn carriage in the road stop him. This was a robbery gone wrong – nothing more. He felt bad for the victims, but that didn’t mean he and Niena were in immediate danger. Highwaymen rarely stuck around after their crime. Besides, road robbers targeted the weak. There was no chance they’d be able to take on someone of his skill level.

  “Get your dagger out,” he said.

  “But I don’t like it.”

  “Niena…”

  The girl reached to her waist and drew a small dagger. It would have felt like a toy in Zylan’s hands, but it was sharp enough to do damage. He was training her to use it, and after that, she’d graduate to something bigger. He felt better knowing she was protected.

  He took a deep breath. Holding his blade firm, he approached the carriage. The smell of blood clogged his nostrils. He got close enough to touch the satin. Steeling himself, he grabbed the edge and pulled it back.

  It was empty. The seats inside, once adorned with golden trims, were splashed with blood. A broken elixir bottle was on the floor, and flek coins were scattered next to it. It wasn’t a robbery, then. Robbers wouldn’t have left the flek untouched.

  “Zylan!”

  He turned around. He heard a noise behind him. Stone crumbling and hitting the ground.

  He scanned the area around and saw that something was happening on the side of the canyon. Mud and rocks were falling away to reveal something on the canyon side.

  It was a mound, and it seemed to be opening. Before, it had been covered by a layer of dirt. The more that the rocks fell away, the more he recognized an opening in the canyon side. He heard something clawing at it, and more mud and rocks fell. Then there was a bang, and chunks of dirt scattered onto the road.

  “Get behind me,” he said.

  He looked around. He needed Niena to hide while he dealt with this, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere except the blood-splattered carriage.

  He drew the satin fabric back, feeling the crusted blood on his palms. Peeking inside the carriage, he took off his coat and spread it out on the seat. He wouldn’t have her sitting in the blood of strangers. He put his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her into the carriage.

  “Don’t come out until I say,” he told her.

  Poor girl, he thought. Barely weeks after her mother dies, and she gets stuck with her stupid father. A warrior mercenary who missed most of her life, and barely has two brain cells to rub together. Zylan felt guilt well in his stomach, but it wasn’t just for missing Niena’s early years – it was the reason he missed them.

  He told everyone it was so he could earn money for her future. It sounded like a good reason. But it just wasn’t true. It stung to admit it, but when he looked into his daughter’s eyes, he said the words in his head.

  I did it for me. Not for you; for me. I loved drinking. I loved fighting. And I was scared of the responsibility.

  He was going to say something when there was another explosion. Rocks crumbled down onto the ground.

  He turned around. In just his inner layer, the wind lapped at him. It formed a channel through the road, guided by the canyon and thicket, and met him, stood there in just his leather armor.

  More rocks. A definite shape forming on the canyon side. In a realization that sent him colder than the wind, Zylan knew what it was.

  It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. They were supposed to be gone – wiped out before the battle of the 5 Krals. Tracked, hunted, and exterminated, but at a toll of human life larger than any war or disaster before or since.

  The creatures from his nightmares.

  Zylan had fought them himself. In the briefest of fights he’d had, he had learned enough to be scared. Not just pre-battle nerves, or the cold tinge of fear settling in his belly. A full on, cold sweat, hands shaking kind-of-scared. A terror so universal that even the hardest of soldiers would have no trouble admitting it. And he wasn’t a guy who scared easily.

  As the dirt sprayed and something beat its way out of the canyon side, Zylan couldn’t help but say the name aloud.

  “The Withering.”

  The words choked his throat. Made his mouth freeze. He heard the rustle of satin behind him.

  “What did you say, Zylan?”

  He needn’t have given an answer. The explanation was twenty feet in front of him. A pair of grey, rotted-looking limbs scrambled for grip on the outside of the canyon.

  He knew what he had to do. Being one-eighth a Halberd had given him a power, but the last time he’d used it he had been laid up in bed for a week. The town doctor said he was lucky to have even made it – his skin had dried out like a prune, as if his lifeforce had left him.

  The arms stretched out now. They found a grip. He could smell the creature. Like the odour of rot, but more pronounced. Choking his throat.

  He wouldn’t let them get Niena. Whatever happened, he couldn’t let them get her. He’d heard what the Withering did to children – they didn’t always kill them like the adults. H
e’d heard stories of them marching back to their mounds carrying screaming children.

  “Zylan,” said Niena.

  There was no time for explanations. No time for goodbyes. No sentimental parting words.

  “When I fall to the floor, run,” he told her. He made sure his tone affected finality. That there would be no argument.

  He knew she was trying to comprehend. Then she peeked out of the carriage and saw the monstrosity clawing its way out of the canyon mound. She understood. No more words were needed.

  “Niena,” he said. “Tell me you understand.”

  “Yes, father.”

  His heart skipped. She’d called him father! It was the first time he’d heard her use the word in years.

  Zylan stared at the road ten feet in front of him. It was made from loose pebbles with mud underneath. Since Zylan wasn’t a true Halberd he’d only ever learned the first power, and he had a limited capability even for that. This would take everything he had.

  He let his sword fall. When it clattered on the ground, he felt naked. He crossed his arms. The creature was almost out now. The smell of rot hung heavy in the air. Sunlight hit its grey skin. Rather than illuminate it, it seemed to be sucked into the creature’s dull colors where it was lost forever.

  Zylan stared at the ground. He crossed his arms, closed his eyes. He imagined the road in his mind’s eye. More rocks crashed to the ground and he heard the creature’s claws scrape on the stone, but he tuned the sounds out. He heard nothing. He saw only dirt.

  In his mind, he delved under the surface of the road. He tunneled ten feet deep without disturbing the mud and the rocks and the grubs. No sounds reached him. If being underwater drowned out sound, then being under the earth was even more deafening. His mind was filled with the soil and the packed-together rocks.

  This was it. He could already feel the nervous energy gathering in him. He wouldn’t have long. The last time he’d tried this, he’d vowed that he wouldn’t do it again. His old body couldn’t take it.

  There was no choice. Gathering his mental energy, he imagined himself surging up through the earth. He imagined an anchor and chains tied to him, and that this anchor brought the earth up along with him. He swam up and up, tunneling back through the mud.