by TP Keane
Chapter 2
Cloaked in a thick silence, the palace throne room was void of all furniture and grandeur, save a small hill of marble steps which led up to a tall, golden throne. The only sound came from the gentle lapping of flames from trays of fire oil that dangled from the marble rafters. There were no banners of green and gold hung from the walls, as there had been in years gone by. There was no audience creating a gentle hum, nor did the armour of the King's Guard clatter to kill the silence in the shadowy hall.
A girl with a waterfall of red, curly hair spilling over her shoulders, sat in the throne. Two intensely blue eyes peered out from under the curtain of red, giving an aura of brittle deadliness. Her stare burned into the wooden doors at the far end of the room. Her slim frame, too slight to fill the throne, clad from her neck down in close-fitting red, metal armour. A long golden sword rested by her right leg, glinting in the poor light like a statue that might suddenly come to life and slay all who dared look at it.
She waited, gripping onto the golden scrolls at the end of her armrests more tightly with every passing second. Though the oil lamps burned, they could not completely light the dark hall, and that was the way she preferred it. The shadows clinging to the corners of the empty room appreciated it too and waited for their chance to creep forward. In her mind, she saw them tentatively extend a murky hand out when the light flickered dimly, only to retract it again as the oil fires refused to give up on their quest.
Two years she had watched those shadows try to reach her, to no avail. The memories of the past horrors that befell within the walls stayed hidden inside their murky world. She had once been afraid to re-enter the throne room, but with each passing season her patience grew thinner, and she became more ruthless. The shadows, while they still whispered echoes of her heartache, no longer frightened her. It was the brightness that she feared the most. Seeing, in full light, the place where her nightmares had been born, was too much even for her. But she was the queen, and a queen needed a throne.
In the beginning of her rule, she was perpetually flanked with advisors and guards. But she needed no guards now, nor did she need the passive advice of old men wanting peace. The time for peace had long since passed, and her abhorrence for her subject's distaste for blood grew with time.
A loud clunk, followed by a deep wooden groan, came from the far end of the room. A sliver of unwelcomed light intruded into the darkness, stretching its niveous spear along the centre aisle. It was followed by the small, round figure of some creature edging its way past the door.
She waited.
The creature sniffed and snuffled around the air as it fumbled its way inside. Two wide, shovel-like hands, toyed with each other, making their long talons click like an old woman's knitting needles. This was harmonised terribly with the patter-clink of the creature's broad feet, which ended in eight long claws that matched its hands perfectly. The tapping and patter-clinking made its way slightly left of the centre aisle, bumping its bulbous, furry frame into marble pillars as it went.
Her visitor was slow, too slow for her liking. She curled her fingers under the scroll of her armrest and the cool metal dug into her palms. The creature neared the throne and as its face emerged into the brighter light, its black beady eyes rested on the occupier. It hesitated, its angst making it emanate noxious gasses from its rear end in small spurts, as was common with its species. A bushel of black whiskers undulated in a deranged manner as its long nose tentatively snuffled the air in front of it.
"Q-Queen Aria?" it asked in a squeaky high voice.
Two large yellow teeth protruded from its upper lip as it spoke, making it impossible to tell if the creature was open mouthed on purpose or not.
"What news?" she replied in a flat tone.
The creature stumbled backward when she spoke.
"My, my apologies, Your Majesty. I'm afraid with my poor eyesight I did not see you there," he said, bowing so low that his snout almost touched the floor. More gasses escaped his rear end with the effort.
"I care not for your excuses, moleman. What news? And you had better not make me ask you again." Aria's tone seethed with unspoken deadliness.
The mole man jumped up to attention and a loud rasping noise echoed against the marble walls. Aria wrinkled her nose at the smell that was becoming more pungent. 'Stink ridden, flea infested, windbags,' she thought. 'What useless creatures.'
"Y-Your Majesty," the moleman began. "My people have scoured the city of Lothangard, they've eavesdropped on every wizard, and alerted all the trolls, ogres, harpies, and worgen in Naretia to your request."
"What about the dwarf mines?" Aria asked, narrowing her blue eyes.
"Ah," he replied, twitching his snout. "Ah, you see, well, that one I'm afraid is a bit, em, complicated."
The moleman shut his beady eyes and cowered in front of her.
Aria said nothing. She didn't move. She waited.
"Y-You see, em, it seems that, well, I don't know quite how to put this," he continued. "But, it seems that the dwarfs have put protection around their lands to keeps us, and every non-dwarf, out. I guess, well, you know, that being the only other creature which burrows beneath the ground, they thought we might steal their treasures from them. It's not true of course. Well, maybe just a little, but it's mostly lies and the dwarfs have always been a little paranoid if you ask me."
"I didn't ask you," Aria said coldly. "Enough of your stories, you little pest, have you heard anything about the wizard or the winged man?"
"Eh, well? n-no, I'm afraid not."
The moleman curled into a ball at the foot of the marble stairs and quivered violently. It seemed that fear had also clammed shut his rear end in that moment. All that could be heard was whimpering and the gentle lapping of the flames from the oil fires.
"What do you mean, no?" Aria hissed, leaning forward in her throne. "Have you not been scouring Naretia for five straight months now? How can you not have heard anything? What about the lands to the north?"
The moleman unfurled, but only just enough to let his face come out.
"The ice plains of the north are like rock, we cannot burrow through them, Your Greatness," he replied.
"How many of your people are carrying out my orders?"
"All the men and the available women have left their homes to follow your most benevolent lead, Your Highness. But the winged man and the wizard have the advantage of the sky, a place we cannot go."
"Even if they are sky-bound, they have to land at some point," she shouted. "What of your children, do they search as well?"
The creature unfurled and looked at Aria with an astonished expression.
"N-no, Your Majesty, because they are children."
Aria swooped down from her throne with her golden sword in hand. Quicker than a lightning strike, she pointed it at the furry neck of the moleman. A small blob of his green blood oozed from the tip of the sword and trickled down his fat torso.
"My army is positioned and waiting," she said. "Send the children too, all of them. And I don't care if the imaginary dragons that people say live in the ice plains, pick you off one by one. Send your people to the north. They must be found. Do I make myself clear?"
The moleman froze like a statue.
"Do you hear?" Aria shouted.
"Y-yes, of course, Your Majesty. Right away, Your Majesty."
Aria was contemplating whipping off one of the moleman's fingers as a reminder of his duties, when a small tittering noise emanated from behind her throne. She knew who it was and instantly withdrew her sword.
"Begone, moleman, and do not return until you have some good news for me."
"Y-yes, Your Majesty, as you wish, Your Majesty," he said, scrambling to his feet.
The moleman dashed out of the throne room faster than his little round body had probably ever gone before. He bumped his way against the marble pillars, and just as he closed the large wooden door behind him, he let out a gaseous rumble that would have rivalled
an ogre's.
Again the small tittering noise came from behind the golden throne.
"Do you think that's funny?" Aria asked, sheathing her sword into the black scabbard on her hip. The snigger grew louder and louder, until the full volume of a child's laughter rang out in the empty hall.
"Why don't you come out?" she asked, taking two steps at a time back to her throne.
There was no answer.
"Oh, I see," she said. "You want me to come find you?"
A small shuffle was the only reply.
"All right, but you know what I'll do to you when I find you, don't you?"
Silence again.
"I'll take my sword and run you through," she said, jumping behind the throne.
There was no one there. Aria circled the golden chair until the room around her spun, but to no avail. She couldn't find the owner of the voice anywhere.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she sang.
A shrill scream made her look upward. Perched precariously on the very top of the throne, that was at least three heads taller than Aria, was a young boy. A crazed smirk crossed his face as he lunged his whole body at the queen, soaring through the air like a pouncing cat.
"Aaagh, die you wicked queen, die," he roared, landing squarely on her torso.
His weight sent her tumbling backward onto the ground with a loud clatter of metal armour. Tiny fists flew in Aria's direction, but she fended them off easily. Grasping the young boy under his arms, she picked him up and flung him to the side before flipping over and righting herself. The young boy landed on his feet and, within a second, was running at her again. A mop of curly red hair jostled violently as he ran.
"Oh, no, whatever shall I do?" she said, running away from the young assailant.
With a maniacal laugh, he pursued Aria around the throne, time and time again, until he finally caught up with her. Producing a small wooden sword from his belt, the young boy swung it wildly. She dodged his attacks in swift movements left and right.
"Death to the Blood Queen," he roared.
Aria stopped in her tracks and faced the young boy. She caught his wooden blade in her hand as he thrust it toward her abdomen, stopping it dead.
"What did you call me?" she asked, furrowing her eyebrows.
"The Blood Queen," the young boy replied, relinquishing his sword and his fierceness immediately.
"Where did you hear that name, Pearan?"
"I, I, I don't want to get anyone in trouble," Pearan replied, looking at Aria under his red eyebrows and sticking out his lower lip, like he was about to cry.
"You won't get anyone into trouble," she said, kneeling in front of the young boy and cupping his face in her hand. "Tell me, who said this name?"
"A lot of people; the servants, the tutors," he replied, fixing one of her curls that had fallen in front of her eyes with his small hand. "I think everyone calls you that name. Is it bad?"
"It's not a nice name, and if you weren't my brother I would send you to the gallows for it."
Pearan's jaw dropped and his eyes began to water.
"Really? But I'm only seven. You wouldn't really send me to the gallows, would you?"
Aria thought about it for a minute.
"No, of course not." She wasn't sure that that was the truth. "But if you hear anyone saying that name again, you tell them that I'm going to come and have a talk with them if they repeat it, okay?"
"Okay," Pearan replied earnestly. "Aria?"
"Yes."
"What does it mean?"
Aria let her hand drop from his face and looked into the wide brown eyes of her brother. She wondered if she should tell him the truth. Tell him that it was a name given to her by her people because of all the blood she had shed across Naretia. His face was so innocent in that moment. A cute button nose, the same as her own, was dotted with freckles, and his long fluttering eyelashes would make any lady jealous. It would have made Aria jealous too, only she had the very same features. The only difference between them was that her brother had her father's eyes, while she had her mother's.
"It doesn't mean anything," she answered finally. "It's because I dress in red. But I don't like it, that's all."
"Oh, okay then," he replied, plopping himself onto her throne.
Aria gave him a curious look. The kingdom had come to fear her reign. Great warriors trembled at her power, and dark creatures bowed to her will. Yet, here was a small boy, unafraid and oblivious to what his sister truly was; a monster, according to her people. And that's the way she wanted to keep it.
"You know, you've gotten very good at hiding. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were more like a rogue than a prince."
"That's what Daddy was, wasn't he?" Pearan asked beaming proudly at his sister. "He was a rogue before he married Mommy?"
"He was," Aria replied, ruffling his hair. "And you are just like him."
Pearan's smile faded and he fixed his eyes on his black, leather boots.
"I miss them," he said quietly. "Do you think they can really see us from the afterlife?"
Aria felt the sting of tears at the back of her eyes. She missed them too. But she secretly hoped that there was no afterlife, so they wouldn't see the terrible steps she had taken against her treasonous subjects. They had been kind and wise leaders of Naretia, before they were murdered, and they wouldn't have liked the kind of ruler she had become.
"I'm sure they can," she replied in a whisper.
Pearan smiled broadly then.
"Good, cos I have something to tell Mommy." He stood on the seat of the throne, stretched his neck as long as he could, and took a deep breath in. "I didn't eat my carrots today Mommy!" he roared at the top of his lungs before sticking his tongue out and rasping loudly.
This sent Aria into fits of laughter. It had always been a tiring battle for her mother to get Pearan to eat carrots, and it had become something of a joke between the two of them, even after her death. Pearan had always despised his red hair and thought that eating carrots would only make it worse.
"Go on you little scamp," Aria said, lifting him off her throne. "Go back to Governess Margaret. It's time for your lessons, and I have some more training to do."
"Awe," Pearan sulked as he walked toward the door, "I hate lessons."
"So do I," Aria said.
The palace halls were as devoid of decoration and people as the throne room. Long corridors of limestone blocks, mourned a time when they were more frequently used. The narrow windows looked sorrowfully into the overgrown gardens that once housed fabulous parties. Aria remembered them well. She remembered running around the feet of visiting dignitaries in fine robes, pulling on the long beards of old wizards, and horrifying the elegant elves by waving cured sausages around their heads, knowing perfectly well that they did not eat anything that had once lived. Even as a young child, she was known to the palace as a handful. But no one could have suspected the kind of handful she would eventually become, not even the all-seeing wizards.
Aria walked purposefully through the empty corridors, passing the equally empty state rooms with dusty furniture and drawn blinds. She ignored the ancient suits of armour that had been left to rust. It was the purple smoke that rose from the wizard's tower which drew her attention and irked her the most. Even though she was the queen, she couldn't rid her palace of the infestation of treasonous magic-men, their power was too great. Despite their close proximity, however, she hadn't seen a wizard in many months. They were wise enough to keep to themselves and stay out of the reach of her sword.
Aria hurried toward the central courtyard that had once been the fighting arena. It was still winter, and without the summer birds jovial song the arena was oddly silent. Her metal armour clinked noisily in the doldrummy courtyard. In years gone by, it would have been filled with the boisterous army of the King's Guard. Manly roars would resonate between the limestone walls, and clashing swords would have rung until darkness came. But now it was silent and emp
ty. Her guards had abandoned her on the orders of the wizards.
The only living creatures left in this once mighty fighting arena now, was Aria and Edwel - although Edwel wasn't living, strictly speaking. He was a golem, created by the wizards nearly ten thousand years ago to protect the ruler of Naretia, and all future rulers thereafter. He was also unlike most golems. Aria suspected that either the wizards, or the thousands of years he had lived, had changed him somewhat. He talked, pondered questions, and constantly spouted theories of how to be nauseatingly happy. So odd was he, that she wouldn't have been surprised to, one day, find him frolicking in a field of wild flowers, singing some repellently happy tune. But he was also her fighting instructor, and her only remaining companion: The only one capable of disagreeing with her and living to tell the tale - if it could be called living.
"Good morning Aria. Isn't it a wonderful day? The sun is out, the frost has made the world shine, and my mould is slowly dying away," he said, turning toward her.
Aria scowled at him. Edwel clasped his grey stone hands in front of him. His enormous body crunched, grinded, and his powerful stone muscles bulged as his arms came together. A ground-trembling clunk shattered the silence as he took a step toward her, grinding his square toes into the cobbled floor. Edwel was an impressive sight. Half a size bigger than any man, his grey stature would have been intimidating, if it wasn't for the stupid grin across his square head. His stone lips crackled and broke with the effort of smiling, his expression looking a little ridiculous to Aria.
"How are you this fine morning Aria?"
"Tired of your optimism," she said, striding toward the table of weapons behind Edwel. "Why can't you just be like normal golems, Edwel? All this cheeriness and incessant talking is irritating."
"Are you not in a good mood today, Your Highness?" he questioned, fashioning his face into a frown as much as he could.
"What exactly is there to be in a good mood about? My father is dead, my mother too, the kingdom despises me, and the three castes have refused to help me. The world waits and holds its breath until I turn eighteen, in ten months' time, when I will be forced to marry some dim-witted nobleman's son. And then they will look to him for leadership instead of me. I am quickly running out of time to do what needs to be done. The only help I can enlist is from the Dark Ones, but they are all but useless and undisciplined. So, what exactly, I ask you, could be good about this morning?"
Edwel pondered the question deeply, as he did every question that was posed to him, and scratched a stone finger against his stone chin.
"You are correct," he began, stomping noisily around the courtyard. "The three castes have disapproved of your quest; the wizards, the elves, and even the feisty dwarfs. But at the risk of sounding unoriginal, the night is always darkest before the dawn, My Queen. I am still confident that you shall succeed, and when you look back on this time, you will be proud of the unyielding determination that you showed in the face of great danger.
"However, it is my duty, nay, it is my pleasure to remind you that regardless of your struggles, this day is still a good one. The sun still shines, ignorant of your labours, the birds will return to sing someday, and my mould still falls away from my back. If you reach the end of your journey without noticing the fleeting beauty along the way, well then, it would be easy to lose yourself to bitterness. And what kind of ruler, what kind of girl, would come out at the other end of your battles?"
Edwel grinned stupidly and froze in his place, waiting for Aria's reply. In that moment he truly looked like a statue to her, not breathing and so very, very silent. She had half a mind not to reply and leave him standing there, looking like an idiot. Edwel only ever came to life when the ruler of Naretia was near, or was in mortal danger.
As much as he irked her, Aria knew he was right. But unlike the overly appreciative golem, who would admire every blade of grass if he could, Aria didn't have to look quite as hard for her joy. Despite the darkness that surrounded her, there was some light left in her life. Just one, Pearan. He was the only one left who could make her laugh now, make her forget the brutal things she had done, make her feel as though she was still loved in this harsh world.
But now was not the time to think of fond things.
"Shut up you great big boulder and let's get on with the lesson," she snapped.
"As you wish Aria," he replied, giving a stone-grinding bow. "You have mastered the sword, the bow, and even your fists to a near expert level. But now we must work on your mind." Edwel took a defensive stance in front of Aria. "Battle rarely plays itself out as an equal number of parries and lunges. Fighting dirty is not a nobleman's desire, but it is a warrior's upper hand."
Without warning, Edwel jumped higher than Aria had ever seen him jump before. He landed behind her and the ground shuddered under his weight, making her legs wobble. He kicked her in the back with a swiftness that belied his size, and Aria was sent careening into the table of weapons. The swords, axes, and shields went scattering onto the stone floor with ear splitting crash. Aria swung around quickly to face Edwel, her sword raised, but he was nowhere to be seen. Grimacing from the pain in her back, Aria could feel the rage of frustration building inside of her already.
"Hiding maybe for cowards," his voice echoed from some indiscernible location in the courtyard, "but it also allows you to fight another day, and gives the advantage of surprise."
Suddenly Aria felt herself being picked up from behind by her metal chest plate. The wind whistled by her ears as she soared through the air until she hit the far wall with a painful thud. Stars danced around the edges of her eyes and her head spun mercilessly as she tried to catch her breath.
A wild rage boiled inside of her as she gasped for air. It was the same rage that saw her decapitate her enemies on a regular basis. But before she could get her bearings to exact revenge on Edwel, his stone hand reached out to help her up. Aria took it and struggled to her feet again.
"A friendly gesture in a time of need maybe nothing more than a poisoned offering," he said, thrusting his other hand out and slamming it hard into her chest.
Aria cried out in agony and stumbled back a few paces. Her metal chest plate was dented inward, digging painfully into the ribs she suspected Edwel had just bruised. Tearing at the leather straps under her shoulder armour, she screamed in rage and ripped her chest plate off before raising her sword again. Anger didn't boil inside of her anymore, it erupted into a volcano of vengeance.
Aria swung her sword at the golem's head with as much strength as she could muster. It clanged impotently against his hardened skin, and bounced off. But that didn't deter Aria. She swung again and again, lunging, thrusting, and flailing the sword in whichever way seemed the most likely to do some damage, any damage. But it didn't. Her sword bounced and ricocheted off every time, and all the while, Edwel remained frustratingly stoic. She screamed in anger again before slicing the weapons table in two.
"Aria," he said with a look of disappointment in his stone eyes. "Your anger gets the better of you every time. I don't know how many times I have told you that if you lose your temper, you lose the fight."
"I don't care," she screamed at Edwel, hitting the table again. "I don't care how many times you've told me that. You'll just have to keep telling me it because my anger will not leave me. Not until he is dead. Not until I have returned the favour he bestowed upon my parents, with my blade. I won't rest, Edwel, I will never rest until his head is driven into one of the spires of the castle towers."
Edwel's stony gaze rested on Aria for a long time.
"Do you hear me golem?" she roared breathlessly.
"I do," he replied.