Ahead lay West Eden. Once part of the vast Eden Empire, it became its own governing entity two hundred years ago; back when the sorcerer was defeated the first time. It was time for Diatsieg to make them regret that action.
In a great show of theatrics, as he reached the outskirts of the city he climbed up in the air and almost hovered for a moment. His roar was unmistakable and echoed for miles. Everyone in the city stopped what they were doing and looked toward the great beast in the sky. Letting out a burst of fire from his gaping jaws, Diatsieg turned the evening sky to daylight for a moment, sending the town below into panic. Everyone ran for cover. Women rushed their children inside, farmers tried to herd their cattle into the barns, but in a second the great son of Dragonroth was overhead, just inches from the rooftops, and lighting everything on fire. On his second pass he looked for people out in the open, their final screams pierced the evening air as they burned to death in front of their friends and family. Another pass lit more of the town on fire, and on a final, theatrical move, Diatsieg climbed high above the town and once again hovered, let out one last roar, and with a few flaps of his massive wings, darted back east again towards Edenkeep spewing fire as he flew.
The town of West Eden was burning out of control, by morning would be a pile of ash, and the population would be a few hundred less.
Tomorrow it would be the city of Pontifas, and maybe on to Brimshore for fun. And if all goes well, the sorcerer would have him continue south to every city and village on the continent, before leading his army to conquer them all. The second Reign of the Dragon has begun.
Chapter 15
It was late afternoon when we stepped out of the Dead Woods to a view of the sprawling city known as Ebony City. The outlying dwellings circled miles out from where a majestic black and gray castle rose from the center upon a jagged, mountainous plateau to overlook the kingdom. It was as if the ground beneath the castle had jutted upward, pushing the fortress upward on the back of a giant stone shard, ensuring that it reigned high above the people.
The path led into the center of the metropolis. It was unclear if the road led directly to the castle or not, but it was a start, and we didn’t want to waste any more time looking at the scenery.
Without a word, the wizard led the way along the well-trodden path into the outskirts of the city. The houses were in disrepair, but it was obvious that most, if not all were inhabited. Clothes were hanging in the dusty air to dry, fires were burning in hearths, and the smell food cooking probably tormented Gnath worse than the rest of us.
Often, on one side or another, we would pass a family or gathering sitting lazily in front of their hovel, pointing at us, and whispering back and forth. None seemed aggressive in any way, only curious, but certainly a bit rude.
Occasionally groups of children, clothes dirty and torn, would dart out crossing the street ahead or behind us, laughing and paying us no attention. A cart came from behind pulled by a malnourished ox, driven by a malnourished old man with rags for clothes. The cart had crates of malnourished chickens, clucking and flapping their wings as the cart rattled onward.
“I don’t think food is easy to come by here,” I said, barely loud enough for the party to hear. I didn’t want to draw attention to anything I was observing, not knowing how self-conscious these people might be about their situation. I wondered if these people would sit quietly by when the Lionborne army comes marching into the city? Where would their loyalties lie?
“I don’t think anything is easy to come by here, Master Wellington,” Rika said. “Prosperity seems to have vanished long ago.”
“Or Lord Frantis is correct… that King Willum has taken everything of value from the people and is starving them out.”
“If the legend is true, and if I can get us out of here,” the wizard added, “and if we can put a stop to Zaleus, then we can end their suffering. This place will begin to rejuvenate and bloom again. Animals will thrive, and the sky will be blue again.”
“Do you really think that legend, not much more than folklore, could possibly be true?” I asked.
Arick didn’t answer right away. He looked as though he was formulating his reply in his head before he spoke.
“If all of this is because of the curse Zaleus placed upon this land, then killing him will end his curse.”
“Then I guess we’d better be successful and make our way back.”
The road curved and narrowed as we went on and began a gradual climb up the sides of the great plateau that the castle sits on. We followed the oxcart as it curved back and forth on a series of switchbacks, climbing upwards, higher and higher above the city.
Along the edge of the narrow pass was a steep and rocky cliff that would mean certain serious injury, if not death if we drifted from the path. Above, the rocky wall of the plateau crumbled into sharp, jagged rocks. The ox cart ahead of was slowed our progress – the road being too narrow for us to make our way past. Occasionally, we would have to sidestep ox dung as it plopped ripe from the ass-end of the beast pulling the cart.
“I think that most of us could find places to squeeze by, but poor Gnath would fall to his death trying to get by.”
The walls of the plateau were indeed steep. And the farther up the path took us, the more treacherous a fall would be. The sun was beginning to fall closer to the horizon in the west, and the lower it got, the more necessary it was that we make it to the castle. We were relieved to see the massive castle drawbridge as we rounded the last turn. A dry mote was cut along the front of the castle, seemingly serving no purpose other than blocking easy movement to the main entrance.
We looked up at the massive walls stretching north and south for what seemed to be a thousand feet or more, and as high as ten men. Several towers broke the wall into sections, and each tower had parapets lining the top, with each parapet manned by an archer. Above the drawbridge was what seemed to be an authority figure. The fact that he spoke first led me to believe he was in charge.
“Who goes there?!”
“I have tribute for the King,” the man in the cart called up to the guard.
“And you? Who are you?”
“Um…” Arick began. “We wish to see the Spellcrafter.”
“The Spellcrafter is unavailable, by order of the King.”
“Then, may we speak to the King?”
“The King does not allow audience. Go away now, or we shall fire down upon you.”
Arick looked as though he was scrambling for a though. Then, “Tell the king we have news of an impending attack, and it’s urgent. You have no time to waste.”
The guard stepped away from the edge of the wall, out of sight of our party and the man on the ox cart. It was several moments before he reappeared again.
“Come across the drawbridge and stop. Old man,” the man in charge said to the ox cart driver, “take your cart to the receiving bay at the rear of the palace. You know the way.”
“Aye.”
The drawbridge started to come down, and we were able to see how thick and solid it truly was. The old hardwoods making up its construction were showing their age, held together by fraying ropes and tar, the massive door was in desperate need of repair. The ground shook as it fell flat with a thud.
Dust rose around the door, and we could now see into the castle. Inside, the keep seemed to be every bit as vast as the walls seemed wide. There were people milling about inside, but none seemed to be in any hurry.
The oxcart pulled forward, chickens cackling as the cart bumped up onto the drawbridge. We followed behind, apprehensive as to what might come next.
It seemed easy enough until we stepped inside the door and we were surrounded by armed guards, each in plate mail armor and holding swords almost as long as Gnath’s.
“Surrender your weapons, the familiar voice came down from on top of the wall. Unless you want this to be your last day alive, I suggest you do it quickly.”
We complied, pulling our swords from their sheaths and handing them
over, as well as Nyssa’s bow.
With a jab or two from some very large swords, we moved in the direction of the center of the castle. Many of the inner buildings were in desperate need of repair, and some were already collapsing in on themselves. Rats were running freely, and several children were chasing one elusive rat as if it were a game. The inhabitants paid us no mind. Those that looked at us as we passed only glanced long enough to show their disinterest before looking back down at whatever it was that occupied their time.
The road was paved with stone, covered in dry, dusty sand that left footprints as we passed. The wagon tracks of the oxcart that went ahead of us turned off to the right, while we continued straight. Ahead was the palace entrance cut from the stone walls of the King’s private domain, and blocked my large, dry wooden doors with ornate but tarnished fixtures. The knocker itself must have weighed as much as a small human by itself, and I speculated that had it been polished, as it probably was at one time, would have been very beautiful.
We stopped and waited as the armored fighter stepped up and used the knocker to announce our presence. Dust fell from the door as the striker hit the plate. In moments I could hear the bolts behind the door being released, and the large door creaked inward.
“What is it?” an old man, hunched over and having to look up at us, asked.
“These people wish to see the King,” the fighter said.
“King not seeing anyone. Send them away.”
“Old man, they have news that the King will want to hear. Let us in or Willum will have words with you.”
“Willum? King Willum. The Great King Willum. Know your place, or the King will have words with you!”
“Are you going to let us pass, old man?”
The old man huffed. His face showed not only his hatred for the guard, but also the pain that seemed to be dominating his back and hips as he tried to walk.
“This way. And keep it down. It’s quiet time in the castle. King’s orders.”
We moved ahead, again with the very unnecessary poking of the swords of the four fighters escorting us, but this time at the pace of the old man struggling to move his legs and keep his body moving forward. Most of the time he looked down at the floor; a floor that was once a beautiful red and white checkerboard stone, it’s sheen long since faded, and now covered with the same dust that seemed to be a permanent fixture in this world.
“What is your name, old man?” I asked, trying to humanize the situation.
“What part of quiet don’t you understand?”
“Just being friendly, friend. I am Wellington. I was hoping to learn your name.”
“Well, it isn’t Old Man, that’s for sure. And I am certainly not your friend.”
“I assumed as much.”
We climbed a flight of stairs, which seemed to be an even greater struggle for the old man. Each step was such a struggle that he had to conquer them one at a time. It was beginning to take so long to ascend the flight that I feared that the attack would take place before we could ever tell the king about it.
At the top of the stairs, we walked a short distance before we came to a set of double doors. Two guards stood outside the door at attention, holding swords straight up. The door and the armor on the knights were the cleanest things we had seen since we arrived in Ebony City.
“Okay,” the old man said, “this is the King’s chamber. I will convince him to hear your story, but if he is not impressed, there is a great possibility he will have you all killed for the fun of it. Do you still wish to go inside?”
I looked at the wizard, then to Gnath, Rika, and Nyssa. They all nodded in agreement.
“Yes, we wish to speak with the King.”
“Very well then. Guards, let us in.”
The two guards, in unison, reached for their respective door handles and opened both doors, blowing dust into a little cloud as they swept over the floor.
“And to answer your question, my name is Quint.”
“Pleased to meet you, Quint.”
“We’ll see. We’ll see.”
Chapter 16
We entered a large cavernous room that seemed to go on forever. The once bright red carpet, now dulled with dust and a century of neglect, led the way to the large throne at the opposite wall that dwarfed its occupant. Large wings of steel and bronze fanned out from the sides of the throne, a dragon’s head arching over the top with its jaws gaping, and emerald eyes staring right at me. The throne gave the appearance that the King was sitting in the lap of the obedient steel dragon.
Guards in full plate mail stood one on either side of the throne, themselves seemingly in the embrace of huge wings of the dragon. Each guard held a leashed black hound of the larger variety, that looked to have more teeth than anything else. And they looked hungry. It was very intimidating, I must say.
Slowly we moved forward, keeping pace with the old man named Quint. Ahead of us in front of the throne was another man, older but not as old as Quint. On his knees before the king with a guard standing behind and to the side, he was begging for mercy. From what I could gather, the man was not able to pay his tribute.
King Willum sat in his thrown wearing a white and red gown trimmed in gold. His golden bejeweled crown was the only thing in the room that didn’t seem to need polish. The king himself seemed to be a bit out of place in a kingdom of starving subjects; he was showing a bit of a belly. His black beard was neatly trimmed, but the hair on his upper lip still seemed to hold a bit of his previous meal. His dark eyes looked off to the side and upward and betrayed his disinterest in anything the man was saying about his plow horse dying, or his wife taking ill. None of these seemed to stir emotion in the King. Certainly, any rational being would have a little compassion for the old fellow?
Finally, the King looked down upon the sobbing man. He smiled, and did a bit of a hand wave, as though brushing off the whole thing.
“Stand up, farmer,” the king said, his voice projecting throughout the room as though the acoustics were designed for him and him alone. “Stand up and go back to your wife. I will decide your punishment later.”
The old man stood up and bowed a bit towards the king. “Thank you! Thank you, my king! Thank you!” He turned and quickly walked past us. “The king is good! The king is merciful!”
The man was halfway to the door when the king called out, “Stop! I have decided on your punishment.” With a nod to the guards, they released the dogs, who immediately went into full sprint, barking and salivating as they ran past us. The old man barely had time to turn around and try to run for his life when the dogs were upon him, knocking him down and ripping into his flesh. The dying screams of the old man echoed throughout the great hall, his blood spilled onto the carpet and the stone floor. It seemed like forever before his screams finally silenced.
I turned to look at the king, who was smiling at the carnage. Then he began to clap, a slow, sadistic clap at what he felt was an adequate performance. “Younger ones put up more of a fight, but we seem to be out of the younger ones. But what do you have for me, Quint? More entertainment? The big one will be fun to watch try to fend off the hounds.”
The guards behind us prodded us once again to move forward. Quint, leading the way, announced our purpose.
“These travelers say they have word of an impending attack and felt you should know about it.”
“An attack? Who could possibly have a large enough of an army to attack this great castle?”
Quint stood there, bent over, looking up at the king, and then he turned to face us, an inquisitive look on his face.
“That was,” the King continued, “I believe, formed correctly as a question.”
“Um, yes,” the wizard began, uncertain of how to proceed without breaking some unknown protocol that might get us eaten by rabid canines. “Great King Willum, we are in need of the services of your Spellcrafter. I am hoping that if we tell you of the attack, you may grant us some time with him.”
“What services do
you need of the Spellcrafter? I allow only my own mages access to the Spellcrafter.”
“We have found ourselves in this strange land, a mage myself but foreign to the magic of this world. I need the Spellcrafter to craft me a spell that can get us home.”
“And what is it you wish to trade? Information?”
“Yes, great King. We have come to you to inform you that we ran into a massive army a day and a half back that plan on storming the castle. They will be here at nightfall tomorrow.”
I heard Arick say tomorrow and caught myself seconds from correcting him. The attack was supposed to happen tonight, but the wizard had evidently decided against truly helping the King. If they are expecting an attack tomorrow, they may not be ready a day earlier, such as tonight. The wizard is a smart fellow.
“And who are these so-called attackers? What do they call themselves?”
“Your Majesty, they call themselves the Lionborne.”
“Lionborne? Bah, they are only a small band of thieves. Certainly, they are no threat to Castle Ebony.”
“Of course not, but it would make a bold statement to anyone else trying such a stunt if you wiped them out by being ready for them the moment they strike.”
“You think like a general. What is your name?”
“My name is Arick.”
“Well, Arick. I thank you for your information. Unfortunately, no one gets to see the Spellcrafter.”
“But we gave you information,” I said, louder than I probably should have, and sounding much more like a protest than it should have. “We gave you information of the—”
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