by Sohan Ahmad
The anger that boiled within the Paladin’s blade seeped through steel and onto the Cardinal’s lips. “Remember your place, foreigner. She served me well. Your tongue will show respect for her as well, or it will no longer exist.” The rat-faced lord squirmed with concession, begging for forgiveness once more until the Cardinal accepted. “What use do you have with a dead slave?”
The merchant of misfortune delivered the most noble of causes: “As you said, my lord, she served you well. I simply wish to repay her efforts,” he answered. His wide grin shrinking as chubby fingers tapped against plump lips. “My current methods seem to be ineffective.” Until the smile returned anew. “Her cleaned corpse shall be enshrined within my walls as an example of exemplary servitude. I pray my flock gazes upon her glory and sees a shining beacon toward which to strive. Naturally, to match your generosity, I would provide a doll to parade to the masses as our queen’s fallen killer until we discover the true culprit of course.” The rat’s salute had regained its proper form. “What say you, oh great King of Hardship?”
Archonis protested once more. “Surely you will refuse such nonsense. Must I remind Your Holiness of the years of loyal service provided by both child and mother?” He added, “Cyrus is very dear to the prince, I shudder to think of how he would react.”
The councilman did nothing to dispute the commander’s claims. He maintained his rat-toothed grin as he poured himself a cup of the Cardinal’s personal wine. However, neither man would find satisfaction that night, as Ramses had much to ponder. “Return to your chambers, Councilman. You will know my decision before you depart for your estate.”
The worm-skinned lord bowed, retreating slowly without raising his head. “Of course, Your Holiness, take all the time you require. When the sun shines anew, I trust you will make the best decision for Isiris.” As his heels descended the spiral, the unsightly lord’s complicit grin soured. One way or another, I will have my way.
Once the foreigner’s putrid stench of fish-oiled plum had vanished below, Archonis asked, “Are you considering this traitor’s offer?” probing the Cardinal’s mind as best he could. “I appreciate his value to the crown, truly I do, but the little goblin thinks only of himself.”
Ramses raised his weary hand with eyes dimly lit. “Please…Just remove their bodies and leave me to my thoughts. You shall know my answer as soon as I do.”
The commander stared at his friend a moment. Being so useless at a time like this is my life’s second greatest failure. “As you wish, Your Holiness.”
An end finally came to the long and turbulent day. Hours of darkness tarried throughout the Silent Cathedral until even sorrow had succumbed to slumber, but the long night was colder for some than others.
Cyrus dared not close his eyes as he was terrified of the images that haunted the shadows, fearing they might chase him into the realm of dreams. Each time his sleeping eyes blinked, the hand of his mother’s spirit would become the dead queen’s neck, squeezing like an orange within tightly clenched fingers. Forgive me! I beg you, please leave me be. The cost of life weighed heavy on his soul that night. I envy you, Brother. At least you don’t know the truth. I pray it never finds you. Please remember me as your brother and not the monster that took your mother.
Atop the spiral, the prince’s room still glowed. He sat at the foot of his bed, clutching onto the first picture book his mother had ever gifted him, Ancient Colossean Topography. Marcus gazed upon the tome’s seal, running his fingers across the eroded leather bindings. Letters faded from the front cover as many pages remained torn from his childhood days. Father is right, I am still a child, but can no longer be so. The sadness I felt today is how many of our people feel each day. I can wait no longer to become the prince they need. They deserve a future worthy of your sacrifice. This book is a relic of my past, and as much as I love you, Mother, I must lock it away with my memory of you. Please forgive me.
A short way down the hall, Archonis lamented his failures within the glow of a candle’s light. Within the black, he sat on his bed, staring at a silver pin that rested atop his palms. Paladin, Holy Shield of Scales. I am the most shameful defender in history, unable to protect my queen even within our walls. Such an honored title is wasted upon me. Ramses, I would gladly return it to learn what mystery dances in your mind.
The mystery would remain as the Cardinal gazed through his spyglass upon a vision of his lightless kingdom. A deep pitch sky washed away the battered stone and barren soil until his sight was stained with hope. To think of what we were, what we are, and what we could be . . . Despite all that has happened, I cannot discard my love for Isa. And Diana, you still dance across my sight as radiantly as you did the first time I laid eyes upon you. I am lost without your guidance. Do I cling to the past? Or do I sacrifice it for the sake of the future? Ramses relived the memories of his love for both women within the reflections of the cold, starlit glass. He smiled, laughed, and cried with their shadows until they faded into the dawn. As the light pierced through the fog in his eyes, Ramses lifted the heavy crown onto his head once more. It is time.
A cold, dry sun crawled up over the horizon, stirring motion once again atop the sacred soil. Archonis descended into the slave quarters with a heavy heart, finding Cyrus silent on his neatly folded bedding with a small cowhide sack bound in rope. “How did you know?” he asked.
“I prayed for it,” the boy answered.
Archonis had many things he wished to say. Forgive me Isa. But the words refused to part his lips. “I see. Well, there is no sense in delaying your desires. Let us be off, child.”
Cyrus lifted the bundle of his paltry possessions and made for the open doorway. Each step made slower and heavier by the lingering scent of his mother within the halls. Eventually, the old commander led him toward the long gate within the great hall, but before he signaled it open, he paused a moment. “Do you not wish to say farewell to the prince?”
Cyrus dared not look into the commander’s hopeful eyes. “You know that I cannot.”
The Paladin apologized for saying what he already knew. “You are innocent, and yet there is nothing I can do for you.”
Cyrus shook his head. “Keep him safe, that is what you can do.” Kind words were no longer of any use to him.
“You have my word,” Archonis acknowledged before ushering him beyond the courtyard into an empty cedar wagon, drawn by four ash-gray beasts.
He sat there waiting, surrounded only by echoes of loneliness and a particular perfume that permeated from the satin plush and stained cedar. Plums scented in fish oil? Who travelled in this wagon? Cyrus would have to wait even longer to answer that question. Who will be my new master?
A short while later inside the death-stained bastion, Marcus awoke with thoughts of his brother. He found no trace of his enslaved blood down below, and so he sought out his other trusted servant. “Geno, do you know where Cyrus is? I must see him.”
The Drake had no answers. “Apologies, My Marcus, I do not.” He extended his arm as an arrow to guide the prince elsewhere. “His Holiness has called for you. I will guard you.” Marcus did not protest, following closely behind the long mane of violet. They ventured two floors below the great hall and arrived just outside the Chamber of Hiss, where heads of the Snake shed truth and rumor among one another.
Father has never allowed me down here before. This must be important. Marcus knew, gazing upon the single entrance. Its seal was cast in iron and painted with a pale viper head surrounded by ten tails. A puzzle? “Did my father tell you how to unlock it?” he asked Geno.
The young Drake shook his head. “His Holiness tells me to bring you. Nothing more.”
Before their confusion could grow, the door creaked ajar, revealing a dimly lit den, lacking in luxury. A lantern hung in each corner while the walls walked through the history of Isiris. A painting of how the Creator created Isiris. And there are the faces of every Cardinal before Father. The centerpiece was a long table, carved from a slab of granit
e, draped in velvet fabric with a blackened trim. Father.
Ramses called for his son to enter. “This place is not for Geno, only you. Take your rightful place besides me.”
Marcus did just that, sitting within one of ten mud-painted oak chairs, ancient as the keep itself. “Two seats are empty, Father.”
“They belonged to your uncle Cassius and his guardian, General Cress,” Ramses answered. “Certain matters will keep them from joining us today.” Another matter for another time, Ramses thought as he eyed the remaining eight men who sat beside him. Archonis was nearest to his right, followed by Lords Tobias Farro, Luther Bastille, Samson Kith, Joseph Beck, Atrick Noah, Judah Petoris, and finally, the rat.
Marcus sat just high enough to see over the table, his legs dangling above the ground. Just stay quiet and listen. I can’t do anything to embarrass Father. Playing the quiet son was more difficult than he imagined. Cyrus made it look so easy. What happened to him? Marcus hardly noticed the gaze of old serpent stares as thoughts of his brother lingered in his mind.
Ramses made no effort to answer his son’s curiosity. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. There are important matters to discuss.”
The council responded in kind, “May the Goddess guard the Viper’s blood.”
Their ears perked with eager anticipation of news from the Cardinal’s northern travels, but one matter stole value from all others. “During last night’s festivities, a Shadow infiltrated our walls.”
The words shocked the drums of wise yet ignorant ears. Distraught, the gathered men murmured among themselves while Ramses continued, “As you can see, I escaped harm. However, my wife, our queen, received no such favor. My two most loyal slaves gave their lives in defense of Diana, but the coward managed to poison her as she dreamed. Archonis and I confronted the vermin, but it was too late. He leaped from the window and vanished into the dark before we could reach him.”
Sitting in his uncle’s seat, Marcus shot a glare at his father, hidden beneath the stares of preoccupied men. Two slaves? Father, what have you done? Before his fists clenched and the thought of defiance crept into his head, he turned to see the Paladin’s gaze.
It spoke clearly to him: “Calm your anger and be patient.” And so, the boy listened.
Ramses then aimed his sight at the dwarfish rat to the left of his son. “The most unseasoned among you joined upon us shortly after. He has graciously offered all of his resources to assist in the fiend’s capture. I want the rest of you to work together to bring this monster to my justice. Prioritize this matter above all others and deliver the scum to me with breath in his chest if you can—but should he happen to fall upon the tip of a spear, it is no less than he deserves. If there are any questions, speak now.”
The other serpents were speechless, curious and dubious as to how the rat had gained such sudden favor with Ramses. Their lingering stares of suspicion burned craters into the fortuned noble’s skull, but despite their misgivings, they were bound by oath to the crown’s decree.
Without further delay, Ramses turned to the next topic of discussion. “As you can see, my son has joined us today. From this day forward, he will attend all meetings of importance. Times are dire, and our rivals will not wait for him to learn how to rule. All present shall grant him the same respect that you would me. I trust there are no objections?”
Youth had always been seen as an enemy of wisdom by these wise men, but they dared not question the crown. Ramses began debriefing the council on the events both on and across the Scarlet Sea. Hours of revelations and strategy passed within the dark of this sacred chamber while outside, the sun dipped farther into the earth. When the discussions finally ceased, the chamber cleared. “I am impressed that you did not raise a fuss over my report of Cyrus’s death,” Ramses said to his son.
Marcus replied, “It was very difficult. Now that the council is gone, please tell me what happened.”
“Rest assured that he yet lives. That is all I will say. Do you disagree with my decision?”
Thank the gods. “No,” Marcus answered as he wiped the wet from his eyes. It seems I’ll have to say goodbye to you too. “I am no longer a child. This world without a mother and a brother has become my new home. As your heir, I will do everything I can to see that my home never suffers like this again.”
The Cardinal smiled, his weary skin nearly cracking from the unfamiliar movement. He pulled his son close and kissed his forehead. “You and I shall make Isiris soar above all others. When it is all said and done, history will never forget our actions in reshaping this world, I promise you that.”
Meanwhile Archonis escorted the rat-toothed dwarf to his convoy with a writhing grimace painted upon his wrinkled, squared jaw. As they approached the central wagon, the rat lord broke silence. “Now, now, dear Commander. No need for such a sour face. We are partners, you and I, servants to His Holiness. You should be delighted to be of such service.”
Sir Deroy slowed his pace and steadied the twitch in his cheeks. “Allow me to present his holy message from one servant to another.” He quoted Ramses word for word, leaving out not a single letter. “‘I am not the Scaled Wench. If a single breath of our arrangement parts your lips, you will wish you never fled the East. Your slippery tongue shall not save you. Exile shall not save you. Neither bars of iron nor the edge of steel shall save you. Not even death will release you from my wrath, but rest assured, you will pray for it until the end of your slow and measured eternity. Ensure that he comprehends the tenor of my tone.’”
Unleashing the message brought a surprising smile to the commander’s lips. It strangled the councilman with a terror the likes of which he had never experienced. His mind frozen even as his feet urged him forward. The instinct for survival begged him to return home as his wagon called to him from just within the edge of sight’s reach. And he would have run there if he could, but his legs still jiggled like jelly.
Once they were within two dozen feet of the carriage, Archonis turned his back and departed. The pale, gut clenched, dwarfish stump of a man finally entered his cedar wood wagon where a boy sat with wrists and feet bound in chains. “Hello, my lord. My name is Cyrus, and I hope to serve you well. May I have the honor of your name, my lord?” The boy’s eyes drank in the rotten image before him, and a dark memory surfaced from a shallow puddle within his mind.
As the young slave’s face grew pale with dread, the rat indulged him. “What a polite little thing you are. My name is Master.”
He ignored the building despair in the boy’s eyes and called to the tamer of his horses, “What is the delay? Hurry and free me from this decaying crypt.”
The rider answered, “As you wish, Lord Mammon.”
Chapter 12: Blood, Sweat, and Fears
Three months of falling leaves and ever-chilling winds had elapsed since Tyr and Zephyrus departed their old home. Fall was now winter, and not once within the fading season did a name seeker lay eyes upon the Wind. More importantly, the Shadows that hunt Sebastian have not come. Master and apprentice had settled into a quiet, peaceful life within the forests that bordered Scilia, a sizeable wheat-growing city on the eastern edge of Chronos. There, they made a home out of a house, long forgotten in the center of the woods. Seems to have belonged to a wood crafter. Zephyrus gleaned as discarded chairs and tables still littered their new field. Perhaps, we can sell them in the Scilian market. We’ll need coin to reshape this place for Tyr’s training.
They wrapped a wooden fence around the old garden where the two would often spar. The soft, uneven soil will serve well to train the boy’s feet. Around the perimeter, thick oaks, as old as the four kingdoms, stretched beyond sight and into the heavens. Perfect for bearing the brunt of Tyr’s wooden edge. Behind the house, there remained a large storage shed with many of the old crafter’s tools intact and a small pond. A good place to bathe and calm the boy’s mind.
Each day’s training would grow more intense than the next as sweat oozed from Tyr’s skin until
his master decided. He is ready.
It was the first snow of winter when Zephyrus presented the boy with his first true blade. Finally! Tyr thought, gazing at the chipped, cheap piece of copper as if it were freshly forged steel. “Can I really hold it?” he asked.
“Only your hands can tell you that,” the Wind replied.
Tyr’s fingers grasped the handle like a boy did his first love. It’s heavier than I imagined. He thought as the weight of the blade bent his knees and nearly dragged him to the dirt. I won’t lose to you! A deep gasp of icy air steadied his knees, bringing a smile to his face. “How do I look, Master?”
His feet are wider apart than they should be, and his chest leans back far too much. Zephyrus thought, measuring the boy like a blacksmith did a blade. “Hmm, everything looks good, expect for one thing—your eyes.”
The Wind struck his apprentice across his face with the ball of his fist, knocking the boy flat upon the powdered grass. Tyr’s face was covered in dead green and cool white, but he would not release grip on his gift. “That hurt, Master. What did I do wrong?” he asked, struggling to his feet. Zephyrus remained cold and silent, repeatedly driving the boy into hard soil, yet each time, he rose with sword in hand and a puzzled stare. “Why do you keep hitting me?” Ten times he had fallen and ten times he would stand. Blood dripped from the corner of his lips, his cheeks swelled black and blue, and his eyes were as cold as the metal that clung to his fingertips.
As these icy pupils gazed at Zephyrus, the Wind halted his assault. “That is better. Next time you hold a sword, make sure your eyes look like that.”
Tyr’s eyes no longer shone with the innocence of a child. The once pure light was scorched black by the arctic fire of a killer as Zephyrus offered one more lesson. “In time, you will grow accustomed to its weight. Keep it with you as you walk, hold it close as you sleep, love it as you love your arms and legs, and eventually it will call you Master.”