A Dark Tyranny

by C. M. Pendleton

  “I'm sorry,” said Finn. “Gorgons raided the castle. I was at Castle Red. We are following them, the gorgons.”

  “So then, Storm Wolves attack. You were bitten - but lived. Now you wander these hills in your birth clothes,” said Borman.

  “More or less,” replied Ellison. “May I ask, do you have anything to drink that is harder than water? Something to settle the nerves … warm the stomach.”

  “We did, but had to use it for this one,” said Dord, as he gestured to Torin.

  “It seems I am truly cursed then,” said Ellison with a sarcastic grin.

  “Storm Wolves have a nasty bite. Most that survive succumb to infection,” said Gilnor.

  “Others - a small few - well, they succumb to others things,” said Borman.

  “I've a knack for affliction, it seems,” replied Ellison.

  “You all are like wandering sages. How do you know so much,” asked Finn.

  “We have been alive longer,” said Borman.

  “Journeying over oceans and traveling from city to village … trading and hunting. You see things, hear stories,” said Gilnor.

  “Like seeing a slave with a giant bird and a marking of the First Kingdom upon his chest or seeing a colorless man,” said Borman, laughing.

  Borman took out his pipe and sat down by the fire. He lit it using a smoldering branch from the fire. The scents of wood, cinnamon, and fig filled the air. Finn laid with his back to the ground, as he stared up at the night sky. The fire crackled. Its heat felt good against the cool night air. Finn wished that Nylah could have been with him. He thought of her. Where she was. What she might be doing. A sense of guilt came over him. It wasn't fair. She was supposed to be free - not him. Yet, here he was. Finn did not think he would be able to sleep. He felt anxious to leave. He was ashamed that he was safe and fed, while Nylah was still a prisoner. Finn was now free. Yet, all he wanted, he could not have.

  “Sleep,” said Borman. “I will take the first watch.”

  “You are welcome to travel with us,” Gilnor said to Ellison. “We are going north to the White Ruins… after the gorgons.”

  “I've nowhere else to go,” replied Ellison.

  “There should be Storm Wolves, as well. Perhaps, you will feel right at home,” said Borman.

  Chapter 28

  The Realm of the North

  Castle Suell sat in the heart of the foot hills of the Northern Realm. The rolling hills surrounded the fortress like swells in an ocean of grass. The dips and rises of the land made claiming the castle a near impossible feat for any invading army. There was little to no line of sight for commanders and their soldiers on the ground. However, there was a perfect view from the castle walls. Archers could easily sling arrows into the valleys and hilltops. Castle Suell had lasted long enough that it was no longer a foreign structure. It was a part of the terrain, as much as the grass and rocks. It belonged.

  The castle itself was made of thick granite rock that bore lines of orange tiger lily and red onyx minerals. There were four spiraling towers rising in each corner of the castle. They were connected by a wide perimeter wall that the guards used to patrol and walk from one tower to the next. Heavy iron ballistas were placed along the walls with their massive arrows aimed in different directions. In the center was the heart of the castle. A looming stone structure with a dome roof sat between the four towers. The dome was constructed from limestone. Streaks of rich marble and quartz splintered throughout it like a spiderweb. King Tellos lived and held court in the building. The domed ceiling was unique for the four realms. Dignitaries and builders journeyed from all corners of the four realms to see the refined structure. Very few builders were privy to the methods of domed roofs. The art had all but died out over the years. Some said that King Tellos was partially responsible. Merchants and shop owners sold their wares in the courtyard surrounding the building. Castle Suell was a prosperous place to sell and trade, due to its many visitors.

  A waterway had been constructed that circled the main structure. It twisted throughout the courtyard. The bronze statue of an enormous dragon's head emptied a steady flow of water from an underground spring. The water shot out like cool wet fire from the dragon's mouth. The water ran through the canal. The canal ran through the courtyard providing water to guards, horses and the like. Children sailed wooden ships in the water and ran along beside them. The waterway led to a statue sculptured from one monstrous piece of granite. The statue was of King Pergos who ruled many years before King Tellos. He stood aiming a javelin made of bronze and was holding a shield of black onyx. He faced the main gates of the castle. The statue served as a reminder and warning to visitors that Castle Suell had weathered attacks before and still stood ready to fight. Castle Suell would sooner fall to a plague than to a sword. The water pooled around the statue's base and swirled down an iron drain.

  King Tellos stood in his war room looking down at a large table. A map of the four realms was etched upon it. Markers were placed along the table to show troop positions and the locations of scouting parties. King Tellos was a heavy man in his late fifties. His skin was pale and fleshy, which caused the black hair on his arms and neck to stand out. His face had craters and scars from having the red fever as a child. It kept him from being able to grow a full beard, so he kept his facial hair shaved. His lips were red and had a constant pout due to the pudginess of his face. His weight, shaven skin, and pouting lips gave him an odd boy-like appearance. He compensated this with his cruelty. He wore a white linen robe with a deeply oiled leather belt with a black onyx clasp. His black hair was slicked back due to sweat. King Tellos had a propensity to sweat even in the coolest of climates. He stared down at the table in thought and rubbed his thick hands through his hair.

  “If the barons cannot keep their villagers at bay, I will simply appoint new barons. This castle will not be overrun with scared farmers,” said King Tellos.

  “Of course. These were my words similarly, your majesty. The other barons, they insisted I broach this,” said Baron Martin Lancing. Martin Lancing was a tall thin man with gray hair and a well cropped beard. His eyes were a dull green. He stood proper in a green linen tunic, while holding both of his riding gloves in one hand. His jaw was squared and his cheekbones were high and long. The baron had the appearance of one whose frame was built for muscle. Yet, he was quite thin.

  “I do not have time for crying barons,” said the king.

  Three generals stood beside the baron. They were all older men that had the air of authority and rank. They wore thin leather vests with sections of plated iron on their shoulders and chests. Their vests bore the insignia of the Northern Realm, blue and white with a red sword. Their woolen shirts were dyed a rich blue. Finely woven chain mail draped over their leather pants.

  “What of these Acolytes?” asked the king with distaste.

  “They have amassed here,” said one of generals. His gray hair was balding, so he kept it cropped. His skin was red from the sun.

  “How many?” asked the king.

  “We've counted nearly one hundred, but more appear every day,” said the general.

  “I want an envoy sent. The north is closed,” said the king. “Our armies will bring down any foreign body in the north … Acolyte or not.”

  “Your majesty,” said another general. He had brownish gray hair and a thin beard. His eyes were bright green. “If they are truly Acolytes - would that not mean the Creator of all Ehlür is sending them to fight the invaders? Why not let them? From a purely strategic position, why not join them?”

  King Tellos looked at the general. He held one of the markers from the map table in his hands. He walked towards the general with a look of perplexity. In one sudden motion, King Tellos stabbed the general in the eye with the marker. The man fell backwards with his hands clasped over the stone marker protruding from his eye. Blood poured from his face and escaped between his fingers. He howled with pain. He jerked like a dying fish on the stone floor. King Tellos pulled a da
gger from the table.

  “Where are your Acolytes, general? This Grand Master in the sky? Where are they?” demanded King Tellos. He sank the dagger into the man's neck and twisted. The man gurgled, as blood filled his throat and pooled around him.

  King Tellos walked back to the table. He placed the bloody dagger on the map table where the Acolytes were said to be forming. His fleshy hands were red with smeared blood. He stared at the remaining men in the room.

  “That was one man. How can Acolytes save a realm if they cannot save one man? Real or not - if there is some Grand Master floating in the sky, he is not so powerful that invaders cannot take his lands. Some deity can make a world, but lacks the power to rule it? I will be damned if I let anyone, be it god or monster, take the Northern Realm from my grasp,” said King Tellos.

  “Yes, your majesty,” said one of the generals.

  “This realm is mine. Anyone else is an invader,” hissed the king.

  The king breathed heavily. He stared at the table and then looked back to the men.

  “What of Commander Thorne and the other one?” asked the king.

  “We have not seen Matthias Thorne since he escaped,” said Martin Lancing.

  “Since your son let him go.”

  “He was traitored by his own men. Captain Eaves and the others were working with brigands and Skin Merchants. It was a feat just for him to escape. It was Gerald that informed us about the commander and the traitor king's brother,” said Martin Lancing.

  “Yes … how fortunate,” said the king.

  “They will be found, your grace. My son will see to it,” said Martin Lancing.

  “Your grace, there is also word of a Blood Falcon. It was with an outsider. He was traveling with tall men said to be out of Stone Water,” said a general.

  “Someone from a fallen realm. I take it these men escaped capture as well?” asked the king, angrily.

  “My men were outnumbered, your grace. They came to regroup and gather more men, but the strangers were gone when they returned,” said the general.

  “No more small scouting parties! I want enforced squadrons patrolling the territories!” the king was searing with anger. “We are not the Western or Eastern Realms! This does not happen in my realm. The Northern Realm. I will not allow it!”

  “Yes, your grace. I will make the order,” said a general.

  “Bring the commander and other one to me. Find and kill the rest. It’s better for someone to die than to return here crying about being outnumbered or traitored. You tell them,” said the king.

  “It will be done, your grace,” said a general.

  “Go. Take this corpse with you,” ordered the king.

  The two generals opened the door to the room and ordered two soldiers to remove the body. Thick lines of blood trailed behind the dead general. Martin Lancing stayed in the room, as the others left. He looked at the blood soaked floor. The king stood looking at the table with his back to the baron.

  “Your grace,” said Martin.

  “Now what?” asked the king with a tired tone.

  “You, of course, are the king. Appointed and ruling with divine knowledge.”

  “Get on with it.”

  “There is turmoil in the realm. Speaking candidly of killing barons and what not. It could cause unrest and turmoil amongst those that fill this castle's coffers and store houses.”

  “You are walking close to being replaced yourself,” warned the king.

  “Oh, I should hope not. I am the voice of reason to the other nobles. Your forces are, of course, spread out among us. I command a section, as do the others. That said, you are the king,” said Martin Lancing.

  “You should hold your tongue.”

  “You should think a little more before killing. You killed a capable man just now; a man of military strategy. We need those men if we are to repel the invaders,” warned the baron in a dry tone.

  “Are you sure about walking so closely to mutiny and rebellion with the king? Was there not a dead man just where you stand?” asked King Tellos.

  “This is only council,” said Martin Lancing with a cold look.

  “This war will not last forever,” warned the king.

  “I should hope not, your grace,” said Martin Lancing. “I will go make your decrees to the other barons. I shall see to it that someone cleans this blood off your floor.”

  “I am not squeamish of blood, Martin.”

  “Good. We need a king of strength and cunning,” replied Martin Lancing.

  “No mention of honor?” mocked the king.

  “Honor? This is the great and lasting Realm of the North.”

  Chapter 29

  The Acolytes

  It was just after midday when Luras and Matthias could see the Acolyte camp. The camp was seated in a valley. Foothills loomed on all sides. The inside walls of the hills were granite and rock. They were covered with a thick moss. Mist clung to the moss causing it be a vivid green. Tents of various colors were erected throughout the camp, most were weathered and old. A section of the camp was roped off for horses and oxen. The camp itself was busy and full of life. Some of the occupants hurried through the camp with a purpose, while others sat talking. The sound of a solitary violin could be heard. It was a constant sound that hummed under the staccato clang of smiths and craftsman. Blacksmiths hovered over their iron anvils pounding smoldering steel. Wooden racks were constructed. They held weapons, shields, and armor. The armor was made of both leather and plate. Bowyers leaned over their wooden shafts, sanding them with a determined precision. A group of men and women sharpened wooden arrows and laid them into a basket. The smell of food and smoke drifted through the valley.

  “They've set camp in the Weeping Valley,” said Matthias.

  “Something bad happened here?” asked Luras.

  “No. Not weeping like crying. There is a hot spring under the ground. It bleeds out of the sides of these foothills. See the rock and moss there. It's from the water that weeps from the rock,” said Matthias.

  “This close to the ocean?” asked Luras.

  “Yes. It's an oddity. Good place to set camp. Fresh water. Walled in from the cold,” said Matthias.

  “There are so many of them,” said Luras, as he looked down at the bustling camp.

  “It seems we are not so unique after all. Were you expecting fanfare or trumpets?”

  “It is just strange to see so many,” replied Luras.

  “I'm sure this valley is very blue and glowing at night,” said Matthias, grinning. “Luras, we are here with the rest now. However, I would not descend this hill expecting a warm reception.”

  “I am not sure what I expect.”

  “Good. It's always better that way.”

  “Why? What are you expecting?” asked Luras.

  “Questions … problems,” replied Matthias.

  “I was expecting better than that.”

  “I suppose you could always kill the lot of them. You've grown into that role quite nicely,” said Matthias, as he slapped Luras on the back. “Let's go. I need some food and fresh bandages.”

  “Has the bleeding not stopped?” asked Luras.

  “Some. I can't believe he stabbed me,” said Matthias. “I was standing right there. He wasn't even looking. Let's go.”

  Luras and Matthias entered the camp with stares from the other men. Some of the Acolytes were too busy to notice the newcomers. However, those that saw them took note. Luras was the only Bourne in the camp. Other Acolytes nodded at him, while some whispered amongst themselves. There were some that took note of Matthias, as well. Matthias felt the looks of scorn and condemnation from some of the other men. The moment he entered the camp, he felt that he should not have come.

  I do not belong here. I'm not like these men.

  “There,” Matthias pointed towards a fire.

  Several tree stumps had been cut for seats. Three were empty; two were being used. The two other Acolytes at the fire were dark skinned with deep brow
n eyes. They wore leather vests with steel ringlets. Their pants were dyed a light brown and made from a thin woolen fabric, which was tucked into their leather boots. Both men were wide chested and did not wear shirts under their vests. Their arms were thick and knotted with muscles. Their skin was adorned with ink etchings of sea creatures and maps. The ink was black and well faded. Matthias and Luras sat on the stumps next to the fire. The two men nodded to them a silent welcome.

  “From the Western Isles?” asked Matthias.

  “Aye,” said one of the men. He had a healthy scar that began at this scalp and ran down along his check, jaw, neck, and disappeared under this tunic.

  “Matthias. This is Luras,” said Matthias.

  “Hello,” said Luras.

  “Nelos. This is Tylin. We sail under Captain Dowr,” said Nelos.

  “Are you all Acolytes - the whole crew?” asked Matthias.

  “Most turned. We went north and east after,” replied Tylin.

  “I hope the other man died,” said Matthias, pointing to Nelos’ scar.

  “Ah. No,” replied Nelos. “No man did this. A pod of Razor Tail.”

  “He was lucky,” said Tylin.

  “Razor Tail?” asked Luras.

  “A nasty fish. Death to the lot of them. I was one of the more fortunate ones. They were able to keep my parts in and thread me back up. I only lost a foot,” said Nelos. He pointed to his left leg. He wore a wooden boot that strapped just below his knee. It was well painted with the appearance of a worn leather boot. One would have to look hard to realize it was made of wood.

  “Not sure I would call that luck. Maybe your bad luck was just not as bad as the others,” said Matthias.

  “Perhaps,” replied Nelos, revealing a small grin.

  “I've never looked upon a Bourne before. You are a Bourne, no?” asked Tylin.

  “I am,” replied Luras.

  “He had not seen one himself, until recently,” said Matthias.