The heavy footfalls came nearer and Brandrir held Dagrir tightly in his arm as the Queen stood to her feet. Fameil, one of the Knights of the Dark Stars and Captain of the Royal Guard, strode in. He was a broad and powerful man made into a menacing figure by his heavy plate armor which was sculpted like the body of a marbled god. It was gleaming and lacquered black, with every edge rounded and gilded with gold. His footfalls were heavy upon the floor, his steel boots biting into the very stone. His golden hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and his smokey eyes gleamed like sword steel in the torchlight.
As he came closer the blood from the fallen guards and Kald began to bead up and then float into the air. The bodies of the fallen slowly rising up, hovering just off the ground. Brandrir knew this man well. Fameil was his friend Etheil’s father. Fameil was aloof and reserved and rarely spoke to men other than the King. Brandrir always felt uneasy around him, but never so much as at this moment.
“Fameil!” The Queen rushed to his side, holding her tattered gown upon her body as she brushed past the demons. “Where have you been?”
The Kald hissed and seemed to shrink away from the man, but Brandrir saw something in their yellow eyes that belied their animosity toward the Captain of the Royal Guard. Even the Royal Guardsman took a step back and did not relax his grip on his sword.
“Milord?” the guard’s voice quavered.
Fameil shot him a steely glance.
“Dispatch these beasts at once!” demanded the Queen, eying the Kald with abhorrence. Brandrir tightened his arm around Dagrir, still fighting off the pain that engulfed him and the unconsciousness that loomed in his foggy mind.
“Right away,” said Fameil in his cold, hard voice. The Kald hissed and hunched their backs, tightening their grip on their swords.
The bloody droplets and fallen bodies lifted higher into the air and suddenly the remaining guard fell to his hands and knees. He struggled to stay up, as if some great force was pushing him down, driving him into the stone floor. He looked up, his eyes wide with fear. “Milord, why?!” he screamed, but he would never get an answer. His arms and legs crumpled beneath him. He screamed horrifically as his armor crushed in on itself. Brandrir could hear bones breaking, steel folding, and after a final, terrible squeal, the man’s life was ended and blood flowed out from his crushed armor.
Fameil scowled and turned to the Queen. He relaxed his powerful aura and the blood and bodies all fell back to the floor. The Queen looked up at Fameil, her eyes wide with horror. Then there was a tremulous thunder that shook the very foundations of the castle. The torch that blazed on the wall wavered and sprinkles of dust streamed down from the ceiling. Fameil’s eyes briefly looked up to the rafters before returning to the Queen. “I do think this castle is going to fall, my lady.”
The demons all looked at each other and chuckled with sinister knowing, their breath puffing clouds of frigid smoke.
“Fameil!” gasped the Queen, shrinking on the floor into the corner as the beasts gathered around the Captain of the Royal Guard. “What is the meaning of this?”
Brandrir looked at Dagrir. His brother was frantic, crying and wailing. The room seemed to tumble and roll as he fought off unconsciousness. He chanced a look down at his arm. It was on fire with pain. There was an horrific amount of blood. A strange thought floated in his mind that he ought to run over to one of the Kald and touch it to its body to freeze it and numb the pain, but he knew that was foolish. He knew at this point he could not even stand.
The hissing of steel now drew Brandrir’s attention. He looked up and saw that Fameil had unsheathed his sword. Dagrir began wailing more loudly. Fameil strode to Brandrir’s mother and knelt beside her, his armored knee clanking heavily upon the stone as he grabbed her by the chin.
The Queen looked at Fameil, her eyes frantic. “What is the meaning of this?”
“The meaning of this, lady Brandolyn, is to end the Thorodin bloodline.” said Fameil coldly. He put the tip of his sword to her neck.
“My sons!” she screamed. “Don’t hurt my sons!”
“I’m sorry,” said Fameil. “But this bloodline is going to have to end tonight.”
Brandrir remembered the sounds of his mother’s breath choking and sticking in her throat as the blade dug deeply and slowly. The blackness of unconsciousness overtook him just as the silver tip of the blade came through the back of her head.
“Do you remember that night?” snarled Dagrir, snapping Brandrir back to present time. He looked at his younger brother whose eyes were red, welling with tears. Those pink stripes on his neck stood out more boldly now. “Do you remember how the Royal Guard kept repeating those words? ‘Only the first-born succeeds the King’ is what they said, brother! Over and over and over again I heard those words!”
Brandrir bit his lip and looked down at the stable floor. He felt his brother push him on his chest and he nearly stumbled backward into Stormwild.
“Do you remember them saying that?” screamed Dagrir, and Brandrir was forced to look his brother in the eyes. “Do you?!”
Brandrir inhaled deeply and turned his eyes down.
Brandrir felt his brother grab him around the top of his breastplate and yank him down. “Do you remember them saying that!” he roared again, his eyes wide and spit flying from his mouth.
Brandrir nodded but could not look his brother in the eyes. Dagrir pushed him away as he released his grip.
“So let’s talk about who remembers what,” screamed Dagrir. “Because I remember standing there alone in that cold bedroom! You were there and mother and all the guards had come in, but I was standing there alone! The guards were there helping mother and rushing to your aid. I had to push the body of the Kald from my back as it lay bleeding ice out onto the bed! I remember mother wrapping your arm and then the guards ushering her out the door as I stood there screaming for her—reaching for her—and it was as if I wasn’t even there! And then I saw the guards carrying you off! I heard them say it, brother! I heard them say to leave me, because only you succeed the King!”
Brandrir looked at his brother, his lips pursed into a frown of their own accord and he felt a warm tear stream down his face.
“Tell me now, Brandrir!” yelled Dagrir. “Tell me now what I should remember! After that night, after father killed Fameil, you went out after Etheil to protect him! When father sentenced him to spend a long night in the Blue Wilds and he returned with that wolf of his, you went away with him to train and fight. All the while I was stuck at this castle! Stuck with father in Council meetings! Stuck learning the books of law and pouring over maps of Duroton and learning the names and titles of all the nobles so you could go off and be a knight or Captain of the Grimwatch or whatever else you fancied yourself!”
Dagrir looked away now, his eyes dark and his voice full of a venom Brandrir had never heard before. “And my whole life, while I sat in Council meeting after Council meeting, all I could think was that you, brother, were the one who got the crown.” He looked at Brandrir and spat out the words, “I was but a steward for you. And now, it is finally my turn to live my life but once again you’re going to run back to that landsforsaken Grimwatch and leave me to do your duty?”
Against his own will Brandrir felt his eyes flood with tears and stream down his face. He reached out to Dagrir and took him into his arms, squeezing him tight. Dagrir wept upon his shoulder. “I am so sorry, brother.” said Brandrir, holding him close. “I do remember them saying that. I do remember them trying to leave you. I am so sorry. I am sorry for everything.”
They held each other for a long moment until at last Dagrir pulled himself away and looked at Brandrir with red eyes, his face wet with tears. “I remember something else that night. I remember you coming back for me. I remember seeing everybody leaving the room. I remember seeing mother being taken away and then you being carried out. All I could think, as I stood there alone and crying, was that I was in my tomb. I remembered above all else not wanting to die there alo
ne amongst the shattered glass of the window and the bodies of the Kald. And I remember you coming back for me. I saw you slide out of the knight’s arms and run toward me. I remember my hand slipping from yours in that long, dark hall and you coming back for me.”
Brandrir stood looking at his brother, his lips pursed and tears streaming as he nodded. “I told you I would never leave you behind. But that’s all I’ve done my whole life.”
“Take the crown tomorrow,” said Dagrir. “Or everything from that night is wasted.”
Brandrir nodded and stifled his tears. He looked upon his brother and steeled himself to speak of something he had never openly spoke of to anybody. He had heard the whispers. He had heard the rumors of the Jinn, that they foresaw a terrible omen in him. And he was ashamed of it. For how long had the Jinn seen this? The whispers around the castle had only begun a few years ago, but in Fameil’s betrayal he admitted to wanting to end the Thorodin bloodline. Brandrir had often wondered alone in dark, sleepless nights if they had known back then of the omen and sent Fameil to prevent him from ever taking the throne. Part of him wondered if that is why he did not want the crown. Brandrir looked at his brother. “There are whispers that my reign will bring Duroton to flames and ruin.”
Dagrir sniffed and looked Brandrir in the eyes. “Let Duroton decide that, not the Jinn. Let Duroton rise a phoenix for you tomorrow.”
“What if the Phoenix does not rise?” said Brandrir. “What if the omens are true and the Lands denounce me?”
“Duroton has never failed to rise a phoenix for a Thorodin.” assured Dagrir. “In my heart I know you are true to the Lands. A phoenix will rise for you tomorrow.”
Brandrir forced a little smile and placed his right hand on his brother’s shoulder. “The Council all hate me. Even if the phoenix rises and I am made King, the Council will do all they can to work against me.”
Dagrir smiled. “This time, it will be I who will be there for you. I shall not leave you alone in that shark tank. You are the rightful King of Duroton,” said Dagrir. “Not me. And the Council will have to deal with that fact.”
Brandrir looked at his brother and inhaled deeply.
“Don’t you dare leave me alone to the Council again,” said Dagrir, smiling.
Brandrir nodded his head and smiled. “I will not leave you again.” he said. “It is time I keep the promise I made to you that night.”
Dagrir wrapped his arms around Brandrir and hugged him tightly. “Brandrir Thorodin, you shall make a fine King.” he said.
— 9 —
ETHEIL
The castle was colder and darker than Etheil remembered it. It had been nearly five years since he had been back in Durtania, and truth be told he wished he could stay longer and relax in the royal gardens alone with Solastron. Up north, at the edge of the Blue Wilds in the towers of the Grimwatch, there were no flowers. Only ice and gray skies as far as the eye could see, broken only by the dull gray-blue pines of the forests to the south. Here in the city of Durtania the colors of nature seemed to explode and Etheil had begun to remember that there was more to this world than ice and demons. It was good seeing the townsmen and villagers too. It helped Etheil remember that his sacrifices in the far north meant something; that there was a greater purpose to his being there than constant watch and battle.
As Etheil strode down the lonely corridor he lamented the fact that he would have to return to the Grimwatch without Brandrir. Etheil had grown up in the castle and Brandrir had always been like a brother to him. Even after his father, Fameil, betrayed Duroton and tried to give the Mard Grander to the Kald, Brandrir remained his friend. In fact, Etheil owed his entire life to Brandrir. After his father’s betrayal, his mother, Ethamay, was put to the sword and he too would have been if not for Brandrir. Such high treason called for his entire family’s death, but Brandrir had pled with his father, King Garidrir, to spare him.
Etheil knew he hadn’t exactly been spared. King Garidrir sentenced him to spend a long night in the Blue Wilds, which was basically banishment and death by the Lands themselves. An 8-year old boy alone and without so much as a pair of shoes left to the Blue Wilds certainly didn’t stand a chance. Had it not been for that giant, blue wolf with the amethyst stripes he certainly wouldn’t be alive today.
Etheil smiled to himself and wondered where Solastron had run off to. That giant wolf had saved him from the Wilds all those years ago. Solastron had carried him all the way back to Durtania on his back. Very few ever survived a sentence to spend a long night in the Wilds, and when he returned there was much surprise. It was deemed that the Lands of Duroton had themselves spared him and sent the wolf as a guardian. Some had even said that the wolf was the very spirit of Duroton. Etheil found himself something of a celebrity at first, but it wasn’t long before the names “wolf boy” and “dog-sniffer” were said with increasing venom.
Since his father’s betrayal, Etheil had never been liked around the castle. When he turned ten, he was sent—banished really—to the Grimwatch and Brandrir had followed, much to the King’s chagrin. Six years ago, when he turned nineteen, Brandrir asked his father to anoint him a Knight of the Dark Star. The King agreed, hoping that it would allay Brandrir of some of his worries and he’d come home for good and finally start learning how to run the kingdom. He didn’t, and that was just further salt in the King’s wound.
Etheil knew that the King had never forgiven him for his father’s sins, and Brandrir staying at the Grimwatch with him was just insult upon injury. Here in Durtania Etheil knew he was despised by almost everybody, not least of which were the King and Council. And so he found himself wondering why King Garidrir had requested his presence.
Etheil figured it had something to do with the Rising of the Phoenix ceremony tomorrow. If he had to guess, the King was going to tell him to congratulate Brandrir on the crown and to go back to the Grimwatch and never return or speak to his son again.
Etheil sighed. He didn’t really mind going back to the Grimwatch. At least there he was liked and respected by the men. He just wished he could stay here in Durtania—his childhood home—just a while longer. He half hoped that after tomorrow’s ceremonies the newly crowned King Brandrir would ask him to stay here a while, but deep down he knew how much the Grimwatch meant to Brandrir and he knew he’d have to get back right away. It was something of a miracle that Brandrir had even come to Durtania to accept the crown. There were even bets amongst the men of the Grimwatch as to whether he’d come for the Rising of the Phoenix, and more than a few men would be richer had Etheil himself not talked Brandrir into coming. As much as the men all wanted Brandrir to stay, and as much as Etheil himself wanted Brandrir to stay, he knew that the future of Duroton truly rested in Brandrir’s hands.
Etheil’s earliest memories were of his father and mother reading him the ancient tales and legends of Duroton. They were the only memories of his parents that Etheil truly had. His love of the old myths and tales never died and he had shared them with Brandrir over the years. King Garidrir and Dagrir were good men, but Etheil knew they did not share the same love as Brandrir for the old ways. Etheil knew that if Duroton ever had a chance to be brought back to its roots, it lied within Brandrir alone. Like himself, Brandrir could see Duroton slipping into the ways of the southern kingdoms.
Etheil sighed. What did the King want with him?
Though he wore full plate armor beneath his black shroud, Etheil passed as silently as a specter through the castle. The Rising of the Phoenix ceremony was tomorrow, and he thought it odd how quiet and empty this part of the castle was. He had not been in Durtania for many years, but he recalled the castle having been bustling with nobles and servants. Even his childhood memories were of a castle well lit and buzzing with activity. Etheil knew nobles from all over Duroton were here for tomorrow’s ceremony. Where were they all?
Etheil made his way up many floors and through the grand halls of the castle until he found himself in the King’s Quarter. It was a massive, pilla
red chamber, lined by marble statues of the Thorodin bloodline. A red carpet ran down the length of it and narrow windows upon either side let in streaming sunlight. At the end of the hall six Royal Guards in their trademark white armor stood to either side of a towering doorway. The Guardsmen did not greet Etheil as he came. They just opened the doors, revealing the royal suites beyond. Etheil looked at the blank-faced guards, thinking it odd that the chambers beyond were darkened but for the diffuse light streaming through the stained glass windows on either side. Without a word, Etheil strode past them.
There was a mustiness here; a staleness to the air that Etheil did not ever recall sensing before. He knew that King Garidrir was ailing, but he thought the air held more foreboding than malady. Suddenly, Etheil felt apprehension grip him and his hand found the red-jeweled pommel of his broadsword that hung at his side. Etheil’s stride slowed as the end of the hall came into view from the shadows. There, a great wooden door stood with two Royal Guardsmen at either side. Past the visors of their great helms Etheil could sense their eyes upon him and he knew something wasn’t right. The guards were more tense than they should be, and Etheil could see them both grasping the handles of their halberds tightly.
Etheil approached slowly and took down the black hood that covered his head, revealing his face to the guards. His long, golden hair draped over his shoulders and his blue-gray eyes tried to peer through the guards’ visors. He stopped a short distance away from the doorway and bowed slightly. “King Garidrir has requested my presence,” said Etheil softly.
The guards clacked their halberds loudly upon the stone floor, as was customary before the King’s chamber, and then pulled open the doors. Etheil peered into the dark room warily. The only light from within came from a drawn curtain that was obscured by shadowy silhouettes. Etheil eyed the stoned-faced guards for a moment before striding past them and into the room beyond.
The Record of the Saints Caliber Page 25