by Alex Alcasid
Chapter Two
It was a little over ten years since Loren last saw the princess with blood red hair.
Loren had grown into a fine young woman, who was more interested in hunting with her father than she was studying court etiquette with the advisers. She frequently attended court on her own, choosing to sit beside her parents as they negotiated with nobles and listened to the woes of the commonfolk. Loren would lean her head on her hand and sigh dreamily as she thought of exploring those places far from the walls of Aldoran that the merchants spoke of.
There were the Beastman cities on the plains; Rhodia as its capital, where buildings were made of rough rocks and mortar, and animals that walked on two legs were even more abundant than in Aldoran. Wheat grew as tall as a grown man on the Garruchian Plains, and grass shone like waves of gold as they swayed in the winds. Loren thought of the King of the Beastmen — Gaturr the lion — and remembered his booming laugh and large gold mane. He had let her braid the rough hairs of his mane and decorate them with feathers and shiny stones when she was a little girl.
Or maybe she could sail across the sea to the desert island of Kespia. The tales told of a high walled city in the desert’s center, the only oasis for miles around. The walls had been sanded smooth and to a mirror shine from the strong winds that whipped the sand into storms. The Warmaster had said that Beastmen were rare in Kespia, as the ruling queen felt they were an eyesore. Beastmen could trade, but were delegated to a tiny market outside the walls and had to endure the desert’s wrath. The Academy of Magic in Kespia housed scholars that scarcely ventured away from the desert to seek newer knowledge.
There was also the highest point, the Eye of the World, but Loren had not heard much about it aside from its location. But the Spymaster did mention there was a tall, thin castle sitting on a peak of the mountain, and the only path towards it was a bridge of ice only two hands wide. Loren shook her head when she heard the story, and was convinced it was another of the Spymaster’s tall tales.
Perhaps she could cross the Kilrough mountains to Sagna.
Loren blinked, suddenly remembering. She hadn’t thought of that kingdom at the base of a volcano in years. She had not heard news of that far kingdom since the king and princess came to court all those years ago, and Loren began to turn to Spymaster Isran to ask for any updates on the land when the heavy double doors of the throne room swung open again.
A thin, weary looking man in ratty old robes limped towards the dais, carrying a bulging rough sack slung on his shoulder. Once he reached the base of the dais, Loren leaned forward. There was a line of dark swirls around his neck: mage markings. But the skin around the marks was blacked from harsh burns.
“My lord and lady…” the man began, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I bring you a gift. From the queen of Sagna.”
King Jorrne’s brows knit in concern. “The queen? But Sagna is ruled by King Aerius. Unless he has remarried?” he looked to the Spymaster, who looked shocked and speechless. He had no information about this, when he should know everything about everyone. Isran shook his head.
“Yes my lord, the queen. Queen Haedria. Good King Aerius has passed away last moon, and his daughter has ascended the throne.” The man replied. He swallowed nervously.
“I see. We must contact Queen Haedria soon. So, the gift from the new queen?”
The man closed his eyes and nodded. His hands shook badly as he reached to untie the sack. Loren saw drops of blood staining the inner lining. He slowly reached inside, took a breath, and flung the contents out to sprawl across the steps of the dais.
The court attendants gasped. The queen leapt to her feet. All the Beastmen screamed.
Warmaster Sairus’s cry was a feral roar of despair and outrage, and he was pouncing on the man before Isran could hold him back.
Sprawled on the steps of the dais was the pelt of Gaturr, King of the Beastmen. The lion’s head had been severed, and his skin sliced from his flesh with perfect precision. His golden mane still bore the braids and colored rocks Loren had put there years ago. Gaturr’s clouded, sightless eyes seemed to stare up at Loren, pleading silently.
“How dare you?” The queen demanded, fighting back tears. Gaturr was a good friend of her’s, Loren knew. The lion king had helped Jorrne and Katarina many times before, and he was the first to ally with Aldoran after Katarina had ascended the throne and brought prosperity to the kingdom. Gaturr was a trusted, treasured friend and ally, and his skin now lay at her feet. Eyes blazing with anger, Queen Katarina snapped at the Warmaster, ordering him to stop.
The panther had his claws around the man’s neck and hissed violently into his face. But at the queen’s command, he did not rip out the messenger’s throat.
The man gulped, feeling Sairus’s claws pricking the skin of his throat. “The queen calls it a gift, my lady. Her message…” he stammered, trailing off. He cast a wary eye at Sairus’s snarl before turning back to the queen. “She says ‘the dragon always protects its friends.’”
Spymaster Isran emerged from the shadows, hurrying towards the king and queen, clutching a scrap of paper. “Your Grace! News, from Rhodia. The king is dead-“
“Yes, we know, Isran. His pelt lies before us, are you blind?”
“That’s not what I mean, Your Grace. The attendants at Rhodia found King Gaturr’s body only now. He was still alive mere hours ago, several of his guards and servants attended to him, pouring him wine and listening to his stories.”
“You!” The queen turned again to the messenger. “Did you kill him?”
The man barely had time to shake his head before Isran continued, speaking urgently. “Your Grace, please, that’s not all that happened. Kaiten is missing.”
Loren, shocked at the news, spoke. “Kaiten? He’s the prince! What happened to him?”
“We don’t know, my lady. It’s as if he disappeared without a trace.” Isran answered. “My spies and the Beastmen guards are looking for him.”
“Perhaps kidnapped. By whoever he was with.” The queen said, venom in her voice.
“Your Grace, please understand, I am only a messenger.” The man pleaded. Sairus’s grip tightened on his throat.
“King Gaturr was like a father to me.” Sairus snarled in the man’s face. “Like a father to all Beastmen. And you killed him.”
“I didn’t kill him! Please understand, I was only sent here to deliver the message.”
“Then who killed him? Who dared to sever his head and cut the skin from his body?”
The man seemed to struggle with his words and gasped for breath. Sairus narrowed his eyes in confusion and distrust; the man’s skin under his hand had become unreasonably hot.
“The queen sent her sister. Princess Seraphis cut Gaturr’s head off with one strike, and skinned him like a hunted animal.” The man’s voice was barely more than a whisper. Sairus yelped and let go of his neck. The markings that circled the messenger’s neck had begun to glow fiercely, flickering like a flame was roaring under his skin.
Loren took a step towards him. It was like Haedria’s mage markings.
The Warmaster stepped back as the messenger burst into flames, screaming, his flesh melting off his bones. Within seconds, he was reduced to ash. All that was left was the man’s bloodied sack, and the skin of the king of beasts.
King Jorrne was the first to snap out of the shock. “Haedria Dagan of Sagna wishes war upon us.” He said, seething. But no one was angrier than the queen, not even the Warmaster. Queen Katarina stormed from the chambers, refusing to look at the remains of Gaturr any longer.
The other advisers turned and followed the queen, but Warmaster Sairus stayed in the throne room. He dropped to his knees beside Gaturr’s skin, tears rolling down his face. He laid a gauntlet-clad hand on Gaturr’s golden mane and wept silently. Other Beastmen, guards and servants alike, stepped forward to the dais to mourn.
King Jorrne said nothing, and let the Beastmen grieve. He would grieve as well, for his fallen friend, but fir
st there was so much work to be done. He followed his queen out of the throne room. She would be in her study, he knew. That’s where he would find her. They had to send word to whoever was left in charge at Rhodia about what happened to Gaturr, and to pledge that Aldoran will aid in the efforts to find Prince Kaiten. Only after all that work had finished, could they mourn their treasured friend.
In all the commotion in the throne room, no one noticed Loren. The young woman slipped away unnoticed, and left the room while people wailed and in sorrow. She didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t want to see Gaturr’s eyes staring blankly back at her; she didn’t want to see the tiny, uneven braids held together with shiny, colored rocks still nestled in his golden mane.
Loren kept walking through the halls of the castle. She turned this way and that, letting her feet take her somewhere, anywhere. Anywhere, as long as it was away from there. It wasn’t long before she was descending a disused flight of stairs. The stairs were worn, carved from the rock of the cliff the castle stood upon. No one kept torches lit along the stairs, so Loren kept one hand on the wall, and slowly felt her way down.
Her footsteps sounded out on the stone, and soon, the sound echoed in a vast chamber. The high ceiling was rounded like an upturned bowl, and one side of the cavern opened into clear skies and a sheer drop to the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff. A low rumbling sounded from the far end, and Loren realized she was crying.
She ran forward, bawling, tears obscuring her vision. The rumbling came louder, and was punctuated by a loud thud: the footsteps of something very large was approaching Loren. She still ran on, and flung herself onto a scaled foreleg, colored blue and gold. The dragon brought down his large head and looked at Loren through a shining, golden eye. His words seemed to ring in Loren’s mind, gently, like an old friend.
At Lind’s gentle urging, Loren found herself sobbing. Like a floodgate that had been opened she started talking about what happened with Gaturr. She recounted the times when she and her parents would tour Rhodia, always ending in the king’s dining hall and chatting over meat and mead. She told the dragon how she would play in the courtyard with Kaiten, and how the last time she saw him, his mane was just starting to sprout. After a while, she told Lind of how she met the young mage from Sagna with the dark, swirling markings that ran down her arms and back. Loren told Lind, it was that girl’s fault her friend was dead. It was Haedria’s fault. And now she was queen.
The dragon listened patiently as Loren sobbed and told her tales. He sat down as she spoke, and nestled her in the crook of his bent foreleg. He listened, always watching her with bright, golden eyes. When Loren’s tales turned to sobbing splutters, the raised a claw and gently wiped the young woman’s tears with its curved back.
Loren sighed, exhausted, and moved closer to the dragon’s great chest and the low rumble of his breath. He never said anything in response to what happened, but his warmth and that gentle rumble calmed Loren. She fell asleep, in the arms of the dragon of Aldoran.
Chapter Three
The next few days blew by in a blur of tears and grief.
The royal family of Aldoran went to Rhodia — the Beastman town — to pay their respects to the king. Gaturr’s body was never shown to the public; the state of his remains after the assassination would have caused a panic. Gaturr’s Spymaster, an old rabbit bent over with age, thought it best to burn the body quickly, before anyone else could get a look at it. Gaturr’s Warmaster, a proud and broad-chested bull named Doreos, vowed to the King and Queen of Aldoran that the Beastmen would waste no time looking for Kaiten. Doreos pounded his chest with a heavy fist and bowed. The heir must be found, he said, and he would be brought back to claim the throne. Loren couldn’t help but notice the way Doreos’s horns had been filed to sharp points, and how he smirked when her parents weren’t looking.
Loren had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach the entire way back to Aldoran after the service for Gaturr had ended. Warmaster Sairus and all the Beastmen in Castle Aldoran had returned to Rhodia for the service and to mourn. Even though Sairus and the Beastmen servants and guards were sworn to the King and Queen of Aldoran, Gaturr held a place in their hearts. If it wasn’t for him and his work, the rest of the world would have stayed cold and hostile towards Beastmen.
“Mother,” Loren started, once they had returned to the castle. She followed her mother back to the queen’s study. “I don’t trust that bull, Doreos. He took charge of the capital as soon as Gaturr died.”
“I know, I noticed it too.” Katarina answered. The queen sighed, and took out pages of parchment and bottles of ink. “But the chain of command among the Beastmen are different, I suppose. And someone has to rule the Beastmen kingdom while they search for the rightful heir. Hopefully Doreos will keep his word.”
“I doubt he will.”
“What choice do we have, at the moment? Isran has already sent squads of our troops out as far as Markin’s Pass to search for any sign of Kaiten.”
“Isran did? What about the Warmaster?”
“Spymaster Isran volunteered to take on the Warmaster’s duties as well as his own, to give his friend the time he needs to grieve. I think it’s an honorable gesture, and allowed him to do it.”
Loren nodded, agreeing with the queen’s words. But something about what she said made the princess pause. Loren crossed the study, setting aside piles of books that the queen had taken off the shelves for her studies and left on the floor, and approached a floor to ceiling map of the world. The ink was faded in some parts, and was smudged from the constant tracing of paths with fingers. Loren squinted up at it, placing at finger at a spot to the west.
Aldoran lay there, with its castle on a cliff and the bustling port town Markholme by the sea. Rhodia lay to the north east, just past the Garruchian plains. The plains were named after the one-eyed tiger Beastman who found alongside a human king against a necromancer’s horde of the undead. The legend said Garruch the Mighty shattered the bones of a hundred dead men with one swing of his great battleaxe, and the battlefield had been renamed in his honor after the battle had been won. Loren didn’t quite believe that Garruch had killed all one hundred of the mentioned dead with one swing; he probably did face a hundred foes but took several hacks to get the job done. All the same, all Beastmen treasured that legend, and Kaiten’s eyes always shone with awe and adoration when Garruch the Mighty was brought up in conversation.
Loren traced a path from the clearly marked paved highway that led into a smudge of dark green that she knew represented Kilrough forest. The dense forest lay to the south east of Markholme’s gates, and the small path of packed earth was known as Markin’s Pass. It led down farther to the coast and ended at Green Reach, a small port town. The large trade vessels had no space to dock there, so ship captains preferred to dock at Markholme and pay the tax instead of risking smashing against the rocks. The tiny town usually accepted smaller vessels and foreigners coming from Kespia, the desert island across the sea to the south.
To the far north were craggy, almost impassible mountains, and at the highest peak was the Eye of the World. Isran sometimes received reports from the desolate castle and its Keeper, but never shared any further information with Loren. Past that were ruined castles, taken over by the cold and abandoned in the desolate, frozen wasteland. The cold choked the past settlements and the lords of keeps till they were forced to flee further south. Loren shook her head, there was no way Kaiten would have been brought there.
The paved highway from Markholme continued till a series of jagged lines split the map almost in two. These marked the Kilrough mountain range. In ages past, travelers hoping to pass through the mountains would have to go north to where the mountains level out and a path opened, or attempt to cross over. Most died from falling from sheer drops, and misplaced feet on unsteady rock paths. It took two hundred years till a path had been carved and blasted through the mountains and straight out the other side.
Loren briefly considered touch
ing a faded mark near the northern path through the Kilrough mountains, when she thought better of it and went back to tracing the highway instead. The mark represented Yureun — the lost kingdom — and its surrounding mountains. The tales were that the queen of that kingdom cursed her subjects with a plague. Everyone there had died, they say, except the queen and her king. It had been centuries since the plague, and reports from the area still say nothing grows on Yureun’s cursed land.
Loren sighed, quickly running out of ideas where her friend and heir to the Beastmen throne could have been taken. Queen Katarina silently came up behind her daughter, gently took Loren’s hand, and guided her finger through the map past the jagged Kilrough mountains and out the other side. She stopped and let go once Loren’s finger touched a symbol that represented a volcano and the crest of the kingdom that made its home on it’s slopes.
“Mount Volknar.” Loren said. “The kingdom of Sagna.”
“You heard the messenger yourself, Loren. It was a gift from Queen Haedria.” Katarina said, returning to her desk. She continued to write messages to allies and orders for the troops on the parchment. “But we cannot do anything at the moment without risking an all-out war. It is all speculation for now that Kaiten was captured, and possibly taken to Sagna. He could have just as well run away. We do not know.”
“The dragon protects it’s friends.” Loren muttered, looking back to the sigil of Sagna on the map: two rearing lionesses in red on a black ground.
“What was that, dear?”
“Nothing, mother. Just thinking.”
Loren left her mother’s study deep in thought. What was Haedria’s plan? Did she assassinate the lion king purely out of spite? What was the purpose of sending his pelt with a messenger to Aldoran? She could have left the body intact in Rhodia, but she didn’t. The princess couldn’t make sense of it all, and she walked the halls of the castle with the burning question: why? Maybe some fresh air was what she needed.