Trial of Chains_Crimson Crossroads_Book One
Page 3
After four long hours of treatment, Corbin finally awoke. He could barely speak, his words spewing forth in sloppy mumbles. But Sebastian saw only his father, wiping the drool from his chin as Tara spoke, “Thank the gods, we were so worried.”
Corbin tried his best to respond, but the strain strangled his words until, Sebastian’s tears subdued him. He used what strength remained to caress the boy’s soft hair and squeeze his wife’s hand.
The coming days would gnaw at Corbin’s body. Few expected such a sudden turn in his health as he suffered an onslaught of fevers. His legs became even more brittle and frail, his eyes cowered from the light, and clear words never returned to his tongue.
Members of the Healers Guild continued treatment as best they could, but none in their service could determine the source of his illness. Tara begged Elize, “Please seek aid from the other kingdoms. Surely, someone can cure him.”
But Elize forbade it. “Foreign hands shall not touch my noble husband.” It was her right. There was little Tara could do as the second wife. The torture of watching his heart fade, day by day, with no cure in sight, was too much to bear, but she had to be strong for her son.
Many believed that he would survive until the leaves turned, but his light vanished only a few moons later on the coldest night of summer. The following weeks marked a period of mourning and speculation as Corbin’s dying wishes would be read only after his funeral.
In the event of death, Elize knew that Chronosian law transferred control of a man’s titles and wealth to a male heir of his choosing. That damn rat, always clinging to my husband like a leach. Edward will enter his nineteenth year in one week’s time and I will burn this house to cinders before allowing the seed of a commoner to control our fate.
Few who truly knew the man believed Edward worthy of his father’s title, but Sebastian was far too young to take up the mantle. With that hope in mind, Elize and her son took no action, biding their time until the contents of the will were disclosed.
The morning of the funeral was darkened by clouds and scattered rains, as if the gods wept alongside their mortal children. A deluge of tears threatened to flood Corbin’s open casket. As hundreds of northern nobles paid their respects, Tara’s eyes lingered over the lifeless body. You would be happy to know that the merchants gave you their highest honor. An emblem of the nation’s gold hawk wrapping its wings around a coin scale was pinned just above his heart. I shall miss you forever, my love. Give me strength to protect our son.
The ritual of remembrance lasted hours as Sebastian sat beside his mother, watching. So many have come to speak in Father’s memory. People from the bazaars, foreigners, members of his guild, and one other man I don’t recognize. Everyone has such kind and respectful words, so why didn’t they do more to make him better?
Surrounding whispers soon reminded him of the stranger he counted amongst the well-wishers. “A Keeper of Prime is here.”
The man of whom they spoke approached the only wife who grieved. Young and frail for such an esteemed position, he seemed like a tall child dressed in general’s armor. “My condolences, Lady Tara, he often spoke warmly of you and young Sebastian.” He glanced at the boy with steady eyes of blue as he whispered his final respects. “My house is at your service should you ever require it.”
Tara nodded. “Gratitude, General Virgil.”
Virgil maintained a smile for the sake of the boy. “Apologies, my lady. Urgent matters require my attention.” But there was little more he could do.
She barely heard her own response, which had become instinct after saying it so often. “Of course, thank you again for coming. Gods bless you . . .”
It pained him to leave, but he did so nonetheless as many others flocked toward the coffin of this respected corpse to offer their prayers. Death was still new to Sebastian. “Who was that Mother? What did he say? Are you okay?”
Tara had no answers to give. “Hush, Sebastian.”
“Yes, Mother.” I could do nothing for Father. Please let me do something for you, at least. Sebastian lamented.
Eventually, the dark skies began to clear into a pale gray as the funeral ended with the closing of the oak coffin. It was engraved with a golden tree, its branches stretching to embrace Corbin as he returned to the Earthly Mother. After the last speck of soil had spilled, the Dantes family gathered within Corbin’s study to learn of their inheritance.
With every anxious breath, the air choked with tension as the deceased noble’s adviser, a short old turtle of a man named Tortum Pystos, commenced with the proceedings. “My condolences to the family members present.” Each word was dry and without haste. “I will now begin to read the contents of Lord Dantes’s final wishes.”
“In regards to my title as the northern Coin Master, I leave that decision within the capable hands of my fellow guild brothers. My oldest friend and associate, Lord Zigmund Hale, will maintain control of my seat, releasing control to my appointed heir at his discretion.” Both Tara and Elize had expected as much, but that was of little concern. Tortum’s every passionless word gripped their hearts with terror as cleared his throat. “My inheritor, who will retain control of the Dantes’s estate and wealth, shall be my eldest son, Edward.”
A great quake of joy and relief echoed silently throughout the room. Elize smiled in elation; her doubts crumbling under the birth of her greatest desire. Tara nearly wept, swallowing Sebastian into her arms. Thank you, darling. I can only imagine how difficult your decision was, but at least our son will be safe.
Sebastian did not understand. Even Mother? Father is gone. How can they be so happy? “Let go of me. I want to be with him!” the young boy shouted as he ran off.
“Come back!” Tara pleaded, but she could not chase, for Tortum had yet to finish.
“However, official control of my lands and titles, in their entirety, will transfer to my youngest son, Sebastian, once he is of age. That is all. I trust my children will continue my legacy and that my family will work together for the prosperity of our kingdom.” Tortum lifted his head from the scroll like a turtle from its shell. “Signed by the hand and seal of Corbin Dantes.”
Chapter 3: The Scarlet Sea
A warm summer sun revived the streets of the northern capital as Cyrus awoke to the ruckus of peddlers and merchants singing their songs of bargain. He rubbed the dreams of freedom from his weary eyes as his mother’s smile reflected the morning shine. “Wake up, my darling.” The blur of slumber washed from his sight as he noticed the presence of another. “Geno will be assisting us until our return home. Hurry now, we must prepare the morning baths and gather the belongings for travel. We depart shortly for the port.”
He rose slower than usual from his bedding, a block of timber lined with linen sheets. What are you really thinking, Mother? he pondered as he took to task. “Follow me, Geno, I will show you our duties.” While the slaves tended to Archonis and the royal party, a caravan of wagons arrived at their gates to carry the Isirians to the Chronosian port city of Tolino, located a day’s travel east of the capital.
“Much can happen in one day,” the Paladin warned, “so I have made arrangements.” A small company of men appeared from within the wagons, dressed in the hide cloaks. But they were too large and well fed to be commoners.
“Who are they?” Cyrus asked Archonis. “They walk like you.”
The Paladin placed a finger against his lips. “Not so loud. I’ll tell you, but you must keep this secret from the prince. It is for his sake.”
Cryus paused a moment before nodding. More secrets I have to keep from Brother.
“These men are elite soldiers of the Merchant Guild’s,” Archonis advised.
“They are from the Minted Shield?” the young slave asked.
The Paladin stroked the strands of white that hung beneath his chin. “I did not realize you had interest in such things.”
“Prince Marcus told me about them,” Cyrus said with a smile. As he took measure of the armed men, somet
hing seemed odd. “They look different than what the prince described. Where are their gold shields shaped like large coins and the silver mail lined with copper linens?” The young slave asked.
“Gold shields are too bold for his Holiness. The Cardinal favors privacy,” Archonis advised. A risk, I know, but I pray it is one worth taking. “Now go, find the others. It is time we depart this place.
The harbor was vast like a god’s footprint atop the ocean. Along the edge of the southern bay stood a colossus, made from the rare white metal of the ivory sea. “Everywhere we go, the hated Snake Eater reminds us of his victories,” Marcus noted through the wagon window as the famed invader’s idol depicted him in his fabled eagle-feather cloak, pulling links of chain from the seafloor. “Isiris wasn’t enough, he had to tame the sea as well?” Marcus asked his father.
Ramses despised the Snake Eater just as any other Southerner, but he was a student of history as well. “Just because we hate him does not mean we cannot learn from him. He did nearly destroy our home, but he also built the first ships to travel beyond the edges of the old world. He tamed the Sovereign Seas, the greatest beast that ever lived, discovering each of the Naked Isles that remain independent of the four kingdoms. What have we done?” Father reminded son. “Finally, we are here.”
Cyrus and his royal brother gazed in awe. Tolino’s streets were a tapestry of vibrant fabrics: blue silks from the East, red leathers of the South, and camel hair robes from the West. Its air perfumed by pounds of salted fish and open sacks of tongue-tingling spice from throughout the deepest corners of Colossea. Over the past century, the harbor had become a crossing of cultures. Hundreds of vessels from throughout the four kingdoms and the surrounding Naked Isles laid anchor each day. Huddled within the masses of trade ships and royal fleets were high-speed crafts steered by those who saw law as inconvenience.
The Minted Shield concealed the Isirian party within the center of their carefully crafted formation, guiding them and their belongings to an unmarked vessel before scattering into the crowd as they were never there. Small in stature, their ship evaded the gaze of local cutthroats and thieves, yet it was long at the bow, like a pelican’s beak, for swifter travel.
As Cyrus boarded behind Marcus, previous travelers disembarked and one bumped into the brothers. “Careful where you step, little rats,” he snarled. The boys felt dread tingle down their spines as their eyes lifted to meet those of the hooded stranger. A sword hung on his back and scraped flesh marred the cheek that was exposed to the sun. The man stepped onto the dock and spoke with a local vagrant: “I am a naked blade in the darkness. Where might I find the light?”
A long white beard with crusted yellow eyes, the light all but faded from his pupils, answered, “Listen for whispers within the capital, and you will find a fading coin in need of Shadows.”
The brothers could make little sense of the riddle as Archonis woke them from their daze. “Come along, you two, we do not want to keep His Holiness waiting.”
“Yes Archonis,” they said, taking in the port one last time. Their eyes danced to the rhythm of an endless river of painted sails, their ears hummed to the beat of a dozen dialects, and their tongues dripped with the tastes of a thousand spices.
Maybe Chronos is not as bad as I thought, Cyrus told himself as a gentle breeze sifted through his hair.
A sudden tremor knocked the brothers off their feet. Isa called out, “Careful, you two. They are lifting anchor. Best to stay away from the ledge until we leave the dock.”
Her voice washed across their faces like a cool ocean breeze calling them home. As the group walked toward their chambers, ready to join the Cardinal, Marcus pulled the Paladin aside with a whisper. “Archonis, I need to ask you something, but you have to promise not to speak of this to Father.”
The commander answered, “My Prince, I can make no guarantees, but please speak your mind, and I will determine if your father’s ears are required.”
Marcus’s fingers trembled to the bone. What if he tells? But doubt was no match for curiosity. “Who is the strongest warrior in the world?”
Archonis’s cheeks puffed, laughter nearly escaping his lips. Just like his father at that age, so full of wonder. “My Prince, that is quite the question indeed. I fear the answer would vary depending on whom you were to ask.”
The boy explained, “I do not care for the opinions of others. You are the strongest man I know, and that is why I ask you.”
“You honor this old warrior more than you know,” Archonis replied. “Many would answer that the gods of war hold such a title, but I have been in far too many battles and seen too much carnage to put such stock in heavenly figures. I believe the heroes of men to be the true Titans. The strongest among them resides in Chronos. In fact, he may very well have been the swordsman you saw in the bazaar.”
Marcus’s eyes shined bright with intrigue. “Who is he?”
“Sir Zephyrus Lenalo,” replied Archonis. “His sword is a hurricane, swift and deadly, powerful enough to shatter enemies into shards of dust. He lords over the northern forces and personally commands their fiercest legion, the Gold Talons, while claiming the highest title to which a swordsman could aspire.”
Astonished, the boy prince muttered with shallow breath, “A Sword Saint? Is it true that they are born of the gods?”
The Paladin imparted what truth he could. “Many believe these Holy Swords to be demigods, capable of smiting entire armies to ash, but I assure you that they are mortals like you and I. Their skills, however, are beyond even my comprehension.” Although Saints hold no political sway, their influence is second only to their rulers. As such, they are granted complete autonomy as the silent guardians of their respective kingdoms. Each swordsman is given title to an aspect of nature they most closely resemble, and so any swordsman of note knows, “Sir Lenalo is the Wind.”
Marcus could hardly believe such a notion—There are warriors stronger than Archonis? “How many others exist? Is there one in Isiris?”
A faint twinge ticked along the Paladin’s cheek before he began caressing the whiskers of his white mustache. “Hmm, based on my most recent reports, four roam the West with three in the East and North, while two reside within all of the Naked Isles. There is one in our lands, but he is more myth than man.”
Marcus’s passion grew into a childlike flurry. “Tell me more about the Wind—what does he look like? Who taught him the sword? Have you ever faced him? Where does he live? Do you think he would teach me?”
The boy went on and on. “My Prince, I cannot answer when so many questions are unleashed at once!” However, Archonis advised, “I do not know of his current whereabouts, but I did hear a rumor in town that Sir Lenalo has retired from war. I did not have a chance to inquire further, but if the rumor is true, then Chronos has lost itself a great champion, and we have lost a most fearful adversary.”
Marcus did not take well to such news, but nearby, silent as a shadow, Cyrus had a different thought. I suppose even the strong get tired of fighting. Perhaps slaves are not the only ones who seek freedom.
Isa reappeared from the belly of the ship, wiping her hands clean of a day’s hard work. “Everyone, the beds are ready.” As the Rusty Pelican cleared the bay, Archonis and the brothers took the day’s last breaths of salted sea air before entering their quarters.
Built of wood and iron, the vessel was more spacious than it appeared. It was home to a skilled crew of smugglers and others who favored the King of Hardship’s penchant for secrecy.
The journey from Tolino to the southern capital of Cairopa would last nearly a week. The Scarlet Sea’s waters filled the crevice between north and east, flowing down to the southern tip of Isiris, where the Rusty Pelican would next dock. As the first night fell, Cyrus stood atop the deck, admiring the bright yellow orb in the sky. Twilight that shined against the red rocks of the seafloor made the watery surface bleed. It was an eerie thing to see his reflection floating in the crimson pool. I could swear we ride
the rivers of hell. The night felt twice as long as it did on land, but once the sky reached its blackest point, he finally tired and retired to his bed like the others.
Two days of tempered heat passed at sea, docile winds blowing harmoniously with the tepid waters. Cyrus and the other slaves tended to Ramses with little incident, however, he would occasionally find himself a shadow among hidden conversations between the crew. Three attacks in the last month and no survivors? What could it be?
Those who spoke would never say, but, on the third night, a menace swam the bloody waters of the Scarlet Sea. Cyrus could not sleep after hearing the tales, even more so once the shuffle of unknown feet caught his ear. “Marcus, Geno, wake up. Something is wrong.”
The prince slept adrift in dreams, but finally the tickling of his ear woke him. “What is it?” Marcus blurted out as he sprang up.
Cyrus muzzled him. “Quiet, they will hear.”
“Who?” Marcus asked.
Suddenly, Archonis entered, fully adorned with steel in hand. “Boys, get up. Follow me, you three will be sleeping with us tonight.”
As Geno rose, Marcus would not move. “First Cyrus, now you. What is going on, Archonis?”
“Pirates,” he answered before rushing them to the Cardinal’s chamber.
Under cover of darkness, while many of the other passengers still slept, the cutthroats climbed the ship and scattered like rats throughout the creaky wooden vessel. It was not long before they seized control. The ship’s captain and first mate were allowed to live, but the remaining crew were either put to the sword or thrown overboard for the sharks to devour. One of the pirates shouted, loud enough for even the hidden Isirians to hear, “To those of you who yet breathe, listen well. There is royalty among you sheep. Aid us in their capture, and earn your release.”
Inside, Isa was nowhere to be seen. “Where is Mother?” Cyrus asked.
The Cardinal answered, “She is safe, now be quiet.” Though he whispered something different to his Paladin, “The fool went to warn the other passengers, but she has not yet returned.”