The Furtive Acts of Men - Reaconia Chapter 3

A determined enemy sets out to make his name heard throughout the public's ear. He gets what he wants, and discovers so much more.

Three: The Furtive Acts of Men

Not a soul could see him where he stood, high up on a ridge, overlooking the city. There was a small group of trees that hid him nicely in shade, and he wore a dark black and red cloak to help conceal himself. He could see the Golden Sun Bridge off to his right that was the main passage into the capitol; and he scanned the battlements atop the wall around the city, eerily watching the men posted there. He waited for one of his own men to return to him, and was quickly losing patience.

I should have just killed the man by now, he thought. Instead he had spent the last few nights following his pawn and the man he had befriended, an unknown escort of sorts, making sure that a very important message got delivered to the king, however wrong of a king he may be.

He would much rather have been the person in the capitol, speaking to the king, but that would never have worked out; too many people would know who I am. Which is why he was forced to sneak in darkness and observe like a vulture looking for its next meal.

After some time, that was most likely shorter than it seemed, he saw his man trot his way out of the gates. Fighting his way through the crowd along the bridge.

A malicious grin spread its way across his crooked jaw, things were falling into place, just as he planned. Thoughts flashed to his mind of a crown upon his head, gleaming from the fire around him, on a throne that sat at the head of the entire realm; a realm that belonged to him by right.

“Soon, everything will be mine.” he said to himself, a sick certainty to his voice.

The man urged his horse up the last bit of hill and jumped down from atop it, immediately falling onto his knees in a bow, adding the words, “everything is done as you wished, my lord king.”

“You are late this morning.” he said back.

Knowing full well that he wasn't, the man said: “Yes, my king. Apologies.”

“Oh, Ansell, you are to hard on yourself. Your visit to the brothel was well earned, I do hope my money bought you the pleasure you deserved.”

Ansell rose to his feet, “Sure did, Sir, and thank you.”

“And you are certain that the man will go before the king?”

“Most,” he said, “I made sure of it.”

“Excellent, you have done well, Ansell. Your work here is done.”

“Yes, Merit, thank you, your grace.” Ansell turned to collect his horse, ready to go back to camp, when Merit stopped him:

“Tell me about him before you go.” he said.

“About the messenger, my king?”

Merit rolled his eyes in annoyance, “Who else?”

He didn't know where to begin, “Well, uh, he is a kind man, sir. Truly a kind man; For a moment, I almost felt guilty for going through with this, but at the same time, he helped me along, telling me to never give up, and all that. Determined, he is, he refused to stop until he made it here; afraid of letting his boys down and all. He made it difficult to lie to him, and I could tell he guessed somethin' was up, but I kept up with him word for word.”

“And he believed you?”

“Of course,” Ansell said, a hint of doubt made his brown eyed wander.

“Buur Garning, you are a mysterious man.” Merit said through a clenched jaw, he had learned of the man's name just after Ansell had stopped him in the road, which was all part of the plan. They had picked up the habit of calling him 'the Messenger' for obvious reasons, and Merit had been following them ever since, getting updates from Ansell every evening (and during trips to get firewood,) mostly on the crucial information; Merit always waited until the end of a mission before finding out what sort of people his victims were. After a while it made it all the more fun, “you said he had children?”

“Grandchildren, actually, from Pilant. It seems our last raid had missed them, we just received new recruits from there only a week ago.”

“I feel that we will be meeting them all the same, Ansell,” his grin made another appearance, “now leave me.”

Ansell did as he was told, mounting his horse and preparing to leave, “take a right once you're past the market row and then a left once you pass the guild hall, and you'll get to the castle.” He said, leading his horse away and galloping on through the trees, back to the camp they had to the west of Kingstone.

Merit Schanandore, ruler of the Pyron clan, and self-proclaimed rightful king of the realm, pulled his hood up around his face and walked down the hill going towards the capitol, the sun almost at high noon in the sky.

He pulled his cloak up around his face, hiding his recognizable golden hair and beard. When people noticed him, they gave him a wide gait, and looked startled to see him come up behind them. He was sure he looked menacing and took great pride in that fact. He reached the edge of the ravine and shoved past people on the bridge leading into the city. A few shouted and yelled names at him, but retreated when he shot them a mean gaze. He had always known how to control others, it seemed to be a gift he was born with, he could do what he wanted and nobody seemed to stop him. He had used that gift over the years to form an empire, his cunning wits and pure authority allowing people to believe and trust in him; though he wasn't sure if that was trust or fear, either way it worked in his favor.

He looked up at the silver arches that he passed under, and was sure to take notice of the Sease-Beauvoir sigil, the crowned sun, and silently cursed it. He longed for the day when it would be his sigil, the 'Flame of Schanandore,' that would shine above his people.

The line in front of him was moving slower than ever, and Merit continued to shove people aside; when he got closer to the wall's gates, he noticed a cart was the cause of the slow crowd. It was being checked by two guards in elaborate silver plate armor with blue cloaks, one was digging through the cart-man's goods while the other was looking over his papers. Merit noticed there was a blockade of people inside the city gates just as full as out here on the bridge. He walked up to the silver soldiers, who noticed him almost immediately:

“Halt, sir, you must wait your tu---”

Merit grabbed him by the throat and lifted him of his feet, tossing him aside without a second thought. He slid himself away on the ground. The other man drew his sword, “Is there going to be a problem here?” he said, a hint of a quiver to his voice; when Merit didn't respond for a moment, the man yelled, “Sir!”

“I don't know,” Merit said, “if you let me by right now, your friend will be the only problem I cause, I promise that.”

“Let me see your papers.” the guard said.

Merit sighed, he always seemed the one to make a scene, people have always said it was because of his temper. He drew a sword and with one swift motion, cut the throat of the man in front of him. He hated when people got hold of bravery and opposed him. Ladies behind him screamed as a splatter of blood flew across them and the man fell to the white cobblestone. The crowd backed away from him and he found himself in the center of a circle. He jumped on top of the cart and bounded to the other side. “Step away!” he shouted to the new faces that looked at him with horror. It was commotion at the gate from then on. They fled out of his way, pushing each other back and falling over each other; the people who didn't witness the slaying followed the example of others, and needed no coercing when they saw the bloody sword that Merit held against his shoulder.

Soon, he had a clear path in front of him and Merit sheathed his sword, wiping the now sticky blood on the back of his cape. He followed the directions that Ansell had given him, and turned right once he past the last market in the row. He hated being in foreign places, the threat of being lost and vulnerable was his only fear; he hated uncertainty.

The position of the sun now sat highest in the sky, high noon, and he knew that at this moment, the message of his arrival in the woods was being delivered to the false king. His grin appeared again, he had been planning a visit like this for quite some time now and had, for months before this, pined over the castle layouts and studied all entrances and grounds. He knew that the subjects for conference entered the castle through a corridor just west of the great hall, so he went past the guildhall and the road he was to turn on; he noticed an increase of guards making their way to the main entrance and filling the streets, obviously alarmed by what had happened at the city gates. He turned left just in time to get out of sight from the soldiers out looking for him.

He found himself in the midst of great houses that were neatly placed in rows along the street, their high thatched roofs and stone chimneys towering above him. He was cast into shade again as he walked, stepping over small puddles and streams of human waste that dotted the road. After a moment, he came to a dead end and lost sight of the castle, a rage built up inside of him and the frustration and despair made his aged face wrinkle in a sneer.

People should consider themselves lucky to not be on the streets. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword, hoping something he could kill would come walking around the corner. Instead, he went to the nearest stone chimney and climbed his way up, hauling himself to the rooftops. He was approaching his sunset years, but due to his rigorous training and constant travel, he was as strong as ever. He prided himself of that fact as he hauled himself over the eve of a thatched roof high above the city streets. The castle came into view again and he continued walking, balancing along the peaks and jumping between buildings, making his way ever closer. All that was left to do was wait, and then the fun would begin.

. . . . . . . . . .

Buur was overwhelmed by the splendor of the castle, he showed Dandy to the stables and climbed to the western entrance just after dawn, wanting to be the first person of the day to speak to the king. A knot in his stomach had kept him from sleeping and he nervously wrung his hands together throughout the morning. Other men and families came to wait as well, but Buur couldn't bring himself to say anything to them, so he stood in an awkward silence, simply waiting.

When, at last, guards opened the heavy wooden doors, Buur was the first in line. He followed closely, not quite sure how to act in this moment. His breath was heavy and he cursed the sweat that beaded on his brow. He watched a droplet fall onto the plush red carpet that lined the long corridor. The walls around him were plastered and painted white, rounding to a ceiling above. Torches dotted their path and lit their way, until they came to an intersection and sunshine flooded the hall through great stained windows; Buur could see a beautiful courtyard beyond the glass, full of blooming plants and flowers, with balconies all around its perimeter. He saw the outline of a large fountain in the center and could faintly hear the trickles of water it made.

The end of the corridor was a waiting room, with tall windows that surrounded a corner of benches upholstered in a soft red leather. Buur was the first to sit, and was glad to, he thought his knees were going to give out; he took out a handkerchief and patted his forehead dry. He looked up and, for a second, made eye contact with a disheveled young man and his ragged wife and son. A wave of guilt and selfishness swept over him; all of their faces were thin and sunken and by the smell of them, they had appeared to be living on the streets. Curiosity got the best of Buur and he simply asked the man: “What business do you have with the king today?” he sounded more rude than he had intended.

Though the man seemed to be taken aback, he quietly answered, “We were robbed a fortnight ago, our house in the tenement village was set with fire along with many others, and the crime keeps rising. I will beg for my families safety, and my friends'...” the man kept talking, but Buur's mind drifted away. He heard another man join the conversation, and they started arguing. Buur's thoughts filled his head, and he payed no attention to their quarrel. Would the king pay any attention to my affairs, when his got problems so near? And in his own city? Was this trip simply a waste of my time?

The last of those questions bounced around in his head quite frequently as of late. And he hoped with every fiber of his being that it wasn't true.

His thoughts were cut off by a voice that haunted his dreams.

“Stop that rambling, Sirs, it won't do anything out here. Save your passion for in the courts.” It said, angelic and pure as he remembered, even though their was an old quiver to it. He could feel his heart beating rapidly, sending a rush through his body with every pulse.

Two old lovely hands set down a gilded silver tray with as many cups of tea that there were people, but Buur could not force himself to look at whose they were. His eyes followed the purple delicate veins up skinny wrists to where they met the hem of silky embroidered sleeves.

She is so gentle and loving, even with tea glasses.

His breath quickened, and his eyes darted, but his neck was locked into place. How can it be? Is it even her? I need to be sure. Just look up! But he couldn't. As much as he tried and tried, he was frozen in place, and his body would not bend to his will.

“I'll come to get each of you as the time comes, simply ask for anything you may need.” It was only when she turned to walk down the hall that his neck snapped free and he looked up. An elderly woman shuffled away, looking to have about as much pain as he has; a green and gold satin hood hid her hair, save for one silver ringlet that flew behind her. She rounded the corner and he let out the breath he had held in. The disheveled man asked him if he was alright, while quickly snatching three glasses of simmering tea for his family.

There was a roar from inside the throne room, which Buur figured to be the arrival of the Royal family, and he suddenly became very nervous. He tossed back a cup of tea and listened to the mumbled voices coming through the door. It was only a moment before the side doors opened and a flash of green silks made his eyes dart to the floor again.

“We will now take the first guest in.” She declared. Buur had anticipated this moment for over a month and now could not act upon it. He had so wanted to be the first person in, but in his delay of thinking, the ragged family stood before him.

“Come now,” she said, “We mustn't keep the Royals waiting.”

They scurried inside and, once again, the doors were closed. I'll be the next one.

Buur was glad for the extra moment to gather his arguments, and to keep his head from spinning. The moment, though, was far too short as the great doors opened again, and the family that entered came out walking a little taller. Buur stood this time before the woman in green was even out of the room, his eyes still pointed downward. He followed her in, stepping as close as he could without raising suspicion; he breathed in slowly as he walked behind her, hoping to catch a scent that would confirm his suspicions. He failed to notice that he walked into the throne room and now there were hundreds of faces looking at him, talking and whispering. It was a sea of bright fabrics, fans and feathers, jewels and stares. He had never seen people so glorious in his life, though none more glorious as the one he stood by; she had led him to the center of the room, where a brilliant black stage and white ornate balcony and staircase curved around him.

The woman in green started to walk away, and his eyes followed her, This is my last chance. He took one big breath and in a panic, let it all out with just one word and a quiver to his voice.

“Ida?”

It was when she stopped in her tracks that a tear rolled down Buur's face.

He went to her, completely ignoring his surroundings. She looked a fright, and confusion was spread across her face, she looked him up and down in wonderment.

“Do you know who I am?” he said to her.

Her breath quickened, her eyes squinted to try and remember, and for a moment, Buur was hopeful that she would, she would remember him and the life they shared together a lifetime ago. When she looked back at him, she had a smile on her face, and Buur smiled back. He had not seen her lovely face for over forty years, and it did not show any of the sorrow and hardship she had known before she left him, he was so thankful to see her after so long; he reached out his hands to grab hers, but she pulled away from him, “I believe you are mistaken, Sir.”

She turned quickly and darted out of the room, and two guards closed the doors after her. Another tear welled, he had spent his life loving her, and she had no idea who he was. He felt as if something had a hold of his heart and was squeezing it, he couldn't breath, and stood in a daze.

“Your name is Buur Garning?” a man's voice called out, bringing him back. He turned in his place and the sight of four imposing people looming before him brought his mind back into the room. In a state of shock he scanned across their faces, from the beautiful sneer of Queen Romay to his left to the tired eyes of the regal man, Drom, his king, in front; the third face beckoned a second glance, she looked so familiar, and he stared tell she waved to him and laughed to the girl seated directly beside her.

“Your name is Buur Garning?” the voice called again, and Buur saw the Kings mouth move along with the sound.

He immediately dropped to the ground, as low as he could, with his hands outstretched in front of him in a bow, “Yes, Sir, that is my name.”

A woman's scoff made him look up and he realized his mistake, “Your majesty.” he finished.

“And what brings you here today, Buur?”

Everything that he had wanted to say, everything he had just rehearsed would not come to mind, Ida wouldn't let them. Neither would the face of the remarkable girl he saw last night that now sat before him. So that's where I saw her! Things where coming back to him: the Imball sea, the Golden Sun bridge, the light above him, Jaido and his soup cart, and Ansell! Yes! Ansell and Whiterock, destruction and a message, Pyron.

“We do not have the entire day to wait, Sir.” Romay said.

Buur noticed the still quiet of the room, he broke it once the queen finished, “I would not have come if the situation did not demand it of me.”

“Situation, Sir?”

“Pyron soldiers are roaming the countryside, and causing mayhem, I believe them to be around Pilant, where I come from to tell you this, and by now they have probably traveled further. And I know through a friend of invasions, destruction, abductions and chaos in Whiterock not a fortnight ago, I believe there is a war coming, and I fear for my family and friends in my village.” There was a chorus of gasps around the room.

The King looked at him with dismay written upon his face, “And what are your sources for this information?” he said aghast.

“Simply what I have seen, my lord, and a friend I met on the road, Ansell from Whiterock.”

“Well, I don't know where your friend obtained his information, but I have received none of that information from Whiterock. My Lord Steward Camrey has just returned from there and reported nothing of the sort.”

All eyes switched to the stunned face of Buur Garning. Who stood in awe, eyes wide and to the floor. He couldn't believe what he was hearing: did Ansell lie to me? Why? Suspicious things that he had noticed where all starting to make sense; the awkward silences upon meeting new people, the relief Ansell expressed that Buur didn't travel through Whiterock, the suspected lies about his children, everything. Buur hated himself for believing the man.

“Please, your Majesty, you must believe me. I have seen remains of and have heard the clans outside the walls of my city. I am sure they are here.”

“I take your words to heart, my friend, but cannot act upon them until I have proof.”

Once again, Buur couldn't breath. Was that all? A month of traveling for a few exchanged words.

“All I ask, Sir, is more protection of your people, more so on the coastal cities, where they are landing, that alone would calm this old man's nerves.” he pleaded.

“I am afraid I cannot do that, there is an uprising to the east where all my available men are needed. And I have thousands of men posted in Cay and Pebble Beach keeping a close watch on Bale.” Drom could see the desperation in the man's face and fear in his eyes as he listened. He could tell the man was genuine and it pained him to deny the man if he was telling the truth. “But I will do this for you,” he said, and Buur stood a little taller, “I will send scouts to survey the forests to the east and south to investigate your suspicions. They will report to me immediately if a threat is found.”

Buur relaxed and was finally able to breathe for the first time that day, “Thank you, my King, you are too good.”

“We wish you the best on your journey home, Sir, and may each day be your happiest.”

The doors behind him opened again, and two armed guards came to escort him out of the great hall, and Ida was nowhere to be seen. He scanned the rich faces of the people he passed on the way out, looking for any sign of her. He lost all hope when he was led back down the same hallway that he had entered. After a long dark, sullen walk, the doors opened out in front of him and sunshine washed over him, and he let go of all emotions that had gathered inside of him with a deep breath.

I've done it.

He took his time walking back to the stable, moseying through the gardens, smelling roses that caught his eye, pausing to think about the words exchanged between him and the king. New thoughts came to mind as well: What am I to do now? Will I make it home? Can I see Ida again? What about my boys?

He felt better just knowing that he did all he could to ensure the safety of his sons. Scouts would be on the move soon, which meant that he just had to pray and hope nothing has happened to them already. His biggest debate, though, was whether or not to go home. Now that he had tested his luck by traveling to Lossain, he knew that his light would not hold out for another month, and he did not want his last days to be out on the road. He would consider his options over a night of tea and reading by a fire in a nice Inn, and perhaps another visit to the beach, for Ida's sake.

He reached the stable and ran his hand across his horses flank and combed out the tangles in her mane, she whinnied in response and it made him laugh; he grabbed the reins, paid the stable boy and led his way into town. He remembered a tavern that he had passed going to the castle and was almost there, he knew it was early to check into a room, but he could use a hearty meal.

“Excuse me, Sir. Is your name Buur Garning?” a deep voice called out to him. That is the third time I've heard that question today. Buur turned around to see a large man coming towards him, only a little younger than he was, but much more solid, with deep lines on his face covered by a shock of blond beard; a red and black cloak billowed behind him.

“Yes, Sir, what can I do for you?” he replied back, somewhat intimidated.

“My name is Galvon, I am Ansell's father, I would just like to say thank you for traveling with him and returning him home.” the man stuck out a thick hand in acceptance of a shake.

Buur just looked at him, “I have nothing more to say to Ansell, or any member of his family, he deceived me into considering him as a friend, and has lied to me.”

“I know my son can be difficult, but that shouldn't be reflected on a man who is thanking you for your deeds and apologizing for another man's foolishness.”

Buur took Galvon's words as an order and reached out and grasped the man's hand, giving it a slight shake.

“There is another thing I want to thank you for, good Sir.” he said, “I would like to thank you for telling the King of my arrival.” Buur slowed his handshake and looked at the man with a puzzled look before his eyes grew wide in realization.

Buur didn't have time to utter a word before he was pulled off his feet. He came to a halt with a sharp, excruciating pain in his stomach, he heard Dandy neigh in fear and he clutched onto the man with all his might to keep from falling down; a scream welled in his lungs, but it was impossible to let it out, and instead a deep sigh escaped his lips. He looked down to where the man's clenched fist sat, right at the cage of his ribs, and watched as he slowly unwrapped his fingers off a red leather handled dagger whose tip could not be seen. Galvon pushed his hand in and up, causing the blade to twist inside Buur, and he looked the dying man in the eyes with a sick grin.

“Your words have started a war, one that I am ready for. You have worked wonders today, my friend.” And with that, he let go of the handle, leaving it hanging, and ran from the scene into the distance.

Buur sank to the ground, his eyes fixed on the setting sun, a warm liquid flowed from his mouth and he sputtered and choked. Though it was still bright outside, an overwhelming light washed over him, and he knew it was the light that had been following him these last weeks. He never had imagined he would end his journey this way; the growing light overcame the images of Roanan, Aleks, Ida and everyone else he had ever loved, and it scared him. In a last effort of life he stood again, rounded the corner to the Inn and went through the door, stumbling and bleeding. Using the last of his air, he muttered one phrase:

“I regret the early hour, and that I come without notice.” The last thing he heard in this world was a woman's scream, then his light washed out everything he could see, and then suddenly switched to black, and his lifeless body fell to the ground.

There was a great commotion around the inn, a group of townsfolk responding to the scream crowded around the door to get a glimpse of what was happening. The tavern owner was on the floor next to the old man folding the deceased's cloak over his still, staring face. That was when he noticed the red handle sticking out under the man and his eyes grew wide. He stood and grabbed an able boy from the onlookers, “There are kings men posted outside of the guild hall, run to them and bid they come here. Go now.” the young man fled as fast as his legs could carry him, “alright, move along, there is nothing to see here.” he told the gaping crowd, he tried closing the door, but some folks persisted, “Willer, Who is the man?” “What happened to him?” where among some questions asked.

“Will someone contain his horse?” was what he replied, he figured the white ugly mare pacing frantically about the streets had to belong to the dead man who was staining his floors. It wasn't long before the boy returned with two silver armored men in tow. One of them shouted at the people as he tried to make his way through, “You are the man who owns this establishment?” he asked Willer. “Yes.” he replied, allowing them through the door, and closing it behind them, “and there is something of utmost importance I need to show you.” He lifted the cloak and plucked the dagger from the man's front, which released more red liquid in a flood. “Take a look at the pommel.” he said, handing them the blade.

“The 'Flame of Schanandore'” he said, aghast, “We must bring this to the king right away, and the man too.” he looked around the room, as if looking for something. A crying woman came into the room, carrying a large bucket of sudsy water and a scrub brush.

“Miss.” the guard called to her, “I need you to clear off that table,” he then went to the door, addressing the crowd who were silent, trying to listen to the on-goings inside. “I need two strong men, right away.”

A burly man and his son stepped through the door, and were immediately given instructions, “flip that table, we are going to place the man on it, he needs to be taken to the king. What are your names?” he asked them.

“I am Arvin, Sir, and this is my son Katel, of house Eldridge.” the father said, already on his task.

“You will both be rewarded for your help this evening.” the guard replied.

Willer, the tavern owner, grabbed a thick towel from behind his bar and handed it to the guard with the dagger, who carefully wrapped it and tied it to his back, concealing it from prying eyes. Arvin and Katel brought the table over, upside-down and carefully lifted the dead man by his arms and feet. Katel grimaced as blood dripped from the dead man and splashed into a scarlet puddle below. They laid the man on his back and replaced his cloak, then the guards grabbed the front corners of the table and the other men grabbed the back, heaving the dead man into the air.

“I need you both to come with us,” a guard said to Willer and his wife. The man let them out of the door, before locking them and closing the tavern. There was a lovely young woman consoling Dandy outside, she had a sack of oats strung around her shoulders and was giving the mare small handfuls and patting her face. The guards addressed her too, “I need you to follow us, miss.”

To the guards' dismay, the whole crowd followed them, growing ever larger by the curious folks they passed; and by the time they got to the castle gates, there was well over a hundred of them, gawking and whispering to each other about a murder that nobody knew the details of. Two other guards opened the gate, letting in the four carrying the dead man, the tavern owner and his wife, and the young woman with the horse. All others were stuck behind bars, looking idly by as the procession made its way up the hill to the grand castle.

The appointments for the afternoon had all been seen to, and the King took the free moment to take a walk through his gardens. The sun was setting lower by the minute, and the wonderful colors of the sky radiated off of the castle and washed over his surroundings. This was his favorite time of day as it always seemed to calm him and free his mind from his daily troubles. His daughter Memora and her confidant Emmy had run off after the conferences, as they usually did; and his wife, the queen Romay, had retired for the evening, spoiling herself with a lavish rose bath and chocolates from the Suites. So Drom was all by himself this eve; Romay had begged him to join her, but he hated missing the sunsets, they signified a closure for him that he desperately needed after a long day. But there was something pulling at his thoughts that he could not seem to let go of: Could the Pyron really have landed on the Woods' shore? What if there is a war coming? Are we ready? Am I ready? His mind flashed back to the last uprising thirteen years ago when Pyron had attacked. After four years of countless battles, Drom's men had been declared victorious, but for a while it was hard to see the outcome, and his own son had died in the conflict. They had driven the enemy to their lands in the north and south, and knew it would only be a matter of time before they took their revenge.

It was the Royal families Stewardess, Ida, that was the first to find him tonight.

“Something troubling you, your grace?” she said. She was always a welcome sight to the King, he had known her since he came to the capitol almost thirty years ago, and had been a kind of mother to him. He held out his arm and she looped it through his.

“How did you know where to find me?” he said.

“I know how much you like it here, Drom. I think I know you after all this time.” they both laughed.

“Do you think we are ready for another war?” he asked, always looking for her input. The question surprised her.

“I believe you can handle anything that comes your way, my lord.” that reassured him.

“And what of my daughter? Do you know where she goes?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I have no clue, Sir, they are much to fast for me. Those girls are wayward,” she said with a giggle, “But I do know where your wife is, I prepared the bath myself!” It felt good to laugh, and Drom patted her hand as they continued walking and talking; slowly the thoughts of war fled from his thoughts.

They rounded a corner through the roses, and a shimmer caught Drom's eye, he looked up and saw one of his men running towards him, the sun reflecting of his silver armor. He looked flushed and was panting heavily by the time he reached them.

He dropped to one knee in a bow, “My lord King, I need you to come with me.” he said. Ida looked to her king and saw a concerned look on his face, and she knew he was thinking of Memora, and they both hoped something didn't happen to her. “Go, Drom, I'll be right behind you.” She watched as they took off ahead of her.

Drom followed his man, full of worry and distress. He prayed as he ran: Please, Trea, do not let it be my little girl, I could not live if it is. Don't let me bury another child. A tear ran along his face. The guard brought him to the front of the castle where a small group of people stood in waiting, they all bent as the King made his arrival.

“What is the meaning of this?” he eyed the five strangers in front of him and caught sight of the lifeless body on an overturned table.

“Your grace, this man stumbled into my tavern, having been stabbed, and scarred my wife into a fit.” Willard said.

Drom wondered the importance of it all, he had reports of murders every other day, what made this one more important?

His guard came up to him and handed him a thick towel stained in red. He unwrapped it and revealed a long dagger whose blade was covered in dried scarlet blood that matched the leather handle. Drom saw immediately what was the matter. A black, stone polished pommel, in the shape of a diamond with a bright red 'S' engraved in the center covered in flames. That letter made his world come to a halt.

“The Flames of Schanandore.” he said to himself, unable to grasp hold of the immense danger the symbol held. Schanandore being the man at the head of the Pyron clan, Merit. The man who started a rebellion to regain the land of his ancestors. It was happening again. He felt the blood leave his face and he grew dizzy. His worst fears where coming true all over again. I should have listened to that man.

A sudden realization came to him and he looked at the dead body. “Who is the man? Lift the cloak.” he demanded of his soldiers. A wave of guilt washed over him when the saw the pale, drained face of the man who tried to warn him not two hours before. He wanted nothing more than to scream and cry, and berate himself for not listening and couldn't help but feel responsible. He repressed all his emotions like he had done so many times in the past and focused solely on what to do next.

He grabbed one of his men, “I want you to go to the Grand Master. I want birds sent to every major town in the realm with letters detailing the imposing threat; to the towns east of the Woods, especially Pilant, I want details of this man sent, his name is Buur Garning, let us see if we can find his family; And to our enemies in the north and the south, I want a letter sent telling them we got their message and are going to reply with full force.”

“Yes, my King.” the man ran off, bounding up the stairs into the castle.

He then looked at the five townsfolk before him, “Nobody is to speak a word of this. Now I'll put you in contact with my Chancellor, to see you rewarded for your help.”

Ida trotted up to the group, noticing the tension filling the air. She looked directly to the dead man on the table and her legs went numb, she couldn't stop the tears, and she screamed.

No, no, no, no, it cant be.

She turned and fled, stumbling the way she had come, reaching into her apron pocket to clutch a carved, red, heart-shaped pendant, she felt the carving of a 'B' and more tears erupted. She remembered.

Merit could not have been prouder, for he already heard talk and gossip about the 'Murder at Hollow Leg.' He did not know where the old man may have stumbled into, but he assumed that 'Hollow Leg' must have been the place, he guessed a Tavern. He was at one himself, downing a tankard of dark ale, basking in his own glory. He knew, though, that he needed to get out of the capitol. By now the King would have been made aware of him, and would close all the gates, and no one would be allowed in or out of the city. The good news was that the sun was beginning to set.

He tossed back the last couple swallows and went up to the counter, he grabbed a loaf of bread off the counter and tossed a boulder in its place, not saying a word to anyone while he walked out of the building. He had to avoid the main gate, due to the fun he had earlier, so he went north. He had a back-up plan in case the gates were to be shut before dark, so he knew he would get out of the city fine, but the uncertain feeling that he hated so much was slowly coming back to him, and his hand twitched in anticipation.

By the time he reached the road that bordered the town walls, it was almost dark. He peered around the corner of a small house and noticed that the gates were already closed, and he cursed himself. Those gates should have been open for another hour. He watched for a few moments as a cart made its way to the gate, pulled by a young man and his wife. The guards approached them and the woman produced papers that the three talked over, Merit couldn't hear what was said, but they came to an agreement, the guard checked the cart, and the gate was pulled open just enough to let them pass.

Maybe this could work after all. Merit simply needed to get them to open the gate, and he could get through as easily as cutting the guards throats that stood in his way. With a new confidence, he walked around the corner and towards the gate. The guards immediately spotted him and watched him walk up to them, “Hello, Sir.”

“Good eve, men.” Merit responded.

“What business do you have out of the city?” one asked him, obviously intimidated by the brutish man. Merit had guessed that all the guards had heard about the attack this morning, and where wary of all brutish men.

“I live out of town, I own some land that I farm not two leagues from here.”

“We'll need to see papers.” the man said.

Merit pretended to check in his pockets and belt bag, “I am truly sorry, Sir, but it seems like I have forgotten them, but if you let me past, I would be forever in your debt.”

“I cannot let you through without papers.” the man scolded. Merit saw the situation becoming dim, it was clear they weren't going to let him past the gate, and his hands where still wet with the blood of his last kill. In the flash of a second, Merit's fist hooked around and made contact with the guard's face just at the jawline with a practiced precision. The guard was hit hard enough that his helmet flew off his head and bounced along the ground, which is what Merit was hoping for. Merit grabbed the man by his dark hair and pulled him up with one hand so that the guard had to balance on the tips of his toes, Merit put the second of his daggers against the man's throat. There where two other guards on the ground who responded by drawing their steel; two more drew arrows and pointed them from their parapets on top of the wall. Merit eyed the four men, waiting until one of them made the next move.

“We know who you are, Merit Schanandore.” one of them said, “and will not hesitate to make you pay for your crimes.”

“The crimes I cause today are all to mend the crimes your King has made.”

“In the name of his majesty, Drom Averus Sease, I command you to drop your weapon and surrender, an effort to run from here will cost you your life.”

Merit took the threat as a challenge. “We will see about that.”

He sunk the blade into the neck of the man he held and shoved him to the armed guard closest to him. Merit dove to the ground to avoid the arrows he knew were fired, the world turned over for a moment and Merit was back on his feet, bolting into a run, going west along the wall. He heard the clang of armor and knew a guard was after him. More arrows flew by, some with a fiery glow to their tips, and he darted left and right in an attempt to avoid them. Merit pulled his black hood up around his head to help him hide among the shadows. He heard shouts behind him and up ahead and realized that there were more men appearing on the wall above him, and all of the guards were yelling to each other.

Merit was running out of options, he had a plan that he didn't want to use, but he was becoming desperate. He could see the end of the wall to his right where it met the ocean, whose waves were sparkling and glinting in the darkening sun. Merit reached into the collar of his shirt and felt for the black opal whistle that he carried around with him at all times, and placed it to his lips. No turning back now. He blew into it, and although it didn't make a sound, he knew that it worked.

Seconds passed before the ocean erupted before them and a colossal black figure emerged, a dragon, roaring into the sky like thunder. The guards immediately switched their attention to the monster, who unfolded its great wings and was gliding towards them. Merit heard screams resonating from every direction, guards and townsfolk, young and old, and he noticed some people running away from the scene, terrified. The archers on the wall let their weapons fly into the air towards the ferocious creature, and Merit had no choice but to admire their futile bravery. Most of the arrows fell short of their target, and the rest simply ricochet off the mighty dragons tough hide.

The creature was terribly immense, and grew bigger as it flew, it landed with its three powerful legs on the wall, crushing it under its weight, causing men to fall all around it; its other clawed arm crashed in front of Merit, causing the ground to tremble, it was a great trunk of a leg covered in sharp obsidian scales that shined in the sunlight, black spikes jutted from the creatures forearm that matched the huge talons on its four toes. He jumped onto the dragons foot and grabbed a spike to hold on to; he felt the heat that radiated from the creatures skin, and the water that dripped from the beast steamed and sizzled off its body. He could feel the muscles in its leg coiling and flexing under its scales.

Merit looked up at his huge, mystifying creature; the massive broad body and great scaled wings that stretched out fifteen fathoms on either side of him; a thick, serpentine neck that twisted and moved about its gigantic head, full of horns and spikes. The dragon reared its head back, and let out another blood-curdling roar that made everyone around drop to their knees in agony, clutching their ears to try and block out the atrocious sound. The dragon closed its huge jaws before stretching its wings and bringing them down with a forceful gust, causing Merits world to jump. Its wings flapped again and the capitol sank below them, becoming smaller with every downbeat.

The archers on the wall sent their arrows down into the ravine outside the city gates, and within moments, there were great pits of fire that dotted the ground, illuminating the sky in an effort to better see their enemy. Once the target was visible again, a new weapon arrived. One tragic strong soldier used a running start and an arched back to launch a javelin high into the sky, Merit saw it coming and had to move out of the way to avoid being hit. The spear came into contact with the dragon's foot, and a loud growl rumbled in the creatures stomach, and a bright white scolding liquid began to flow out of the creatures mouth, it vaulted its neck and flames erupted down onto the city wall, destroying and killing anything it touched. Merit covered his face from the intense heat and beamed when he saw the destruction it caused.

All that could be seen from the castle was a flash of the brightest light Drom had ever seen. For a brief moment it was as if daylight had come back to them. It made Romay scream in shock and Drom ran to the balcony of their apartments to see what had happened. A faint glow filled the sky around the edged of the city. Why are the beacon's lit?

He scanned the horizon, but nothing could be seen, the sun was low enough to where everything looked dark. It was only when another flash of light burst to the north when he saw the threat. A great winged beast above the wall, spewing fire below. Romay came out, in a panic, “Drom, what is that?” her face was flushed. It was then they heard a knock on the door, Drom rushed inside and opened it to the face of Romay's cousin, the Royal Guard, Phillip. “My lord and lady, I need you to come with me right away.”

“Philly, what is happening?” Drom asked.

“It's Merit, my king, at the North Gate.”

“Take Romay,” Drom said, “find my daughter, Ida and the others and take them to the keep, I must check the castle defenses.”

“Everything has been seen to, your majesty, I have doubled the archers and vaulters at the north gate and have men evacuating that part of the city. It is all we can do for now.”

“Very good, Phillip.” Now where is Memora?

Merit started climbing, using the spikes and scales to ascend the dragons leg, he trusted the creature wholeheartedly and had no fear of falling. Once he reached the shoulder of the mighty beast, he gave three hard pounds to it's hide, and in response, the drake brought its colossal head around to him.

“Time to leave, Ranthos.” he said to the large, golden, pupil-less eye in front of him. Merit grabbed a thick horn above him and swung himself onto the dragon's brow. He felt the pebbled skin click beneath his heels as he walked down along the mouth of his monster. The world spun and moved far below him, he could see the entire capitol from his vantage, as well as the ocean that stretched out to infinity and the forest that covered the land as far as the eye could see. He took his seat directly behind the dragon's snout and took hold of heavy reins that draped between great horns just above the creatures nostrils. He lifted his foot and brought it down hard against the soft flesh around its nose while pulling as hard as he could on the left rein, signaling the dragon to fly into the trees. Ranthos growled in response, and Merit could feel his chariot rumbling below him, making his bones vibrate.

Merit felt his body surge as the dragon lifted his head and twisted its body towards the trees, Its wings flapped more rapidly, and the creature flew higher, leaving the capitol below them charred and broken.

Merit's cloak billowed behind him as he soared above the forest, scanning the trees for signs of his camp. He thought of the fear and wonder that was spreading through the mind of his enemy. He knew Drom would have seen what had happened at the north gate of his town, and could not wait to see what he was going to do about it.

He rounded the crest of a mountain, and saw his man waving a torch, signaling his outpost. Three great black tents rose from a large spot of grassland at the base of a cliff. It was the perfect location; hidden on all sides by trees and rocks, and close enough to the capitol to destroy them from right under their noses.

Merit pulled up on both reins and with a skilled motion of its wings, Ranthos slowed himself from a glide and positioned his body for landing. There was a feeling of weightlessness as the earth came up to meet them and Ranthos landed with a crash, immediately going into a crawl and sprawling its gigantic body in the grass. He folded his wings and coiled its tail around him before bringing his head down to meet the ground. Merit walked back over the creatures brow and used horns circling the back of the dragon's skull to let himself down.

It was always an unusual sensation to walk after a moment of flying through the air, and more often than not, he felt nauseous. He tried to maintain composure as his men came up to him, he ignored them all and went straight to Ansell and reached out a hand to embrace the man, “You will be made a Constable for your work in this.”

Ansell was shocked, “Thank you, my lord! I assume it went well then?”

“Better then any of us could have hoped, my friend. Buur is dead, our arrival is known, I made an embarrassment of that usurper Drom and his b***h wife, and it will take them months to repair their precious wall.”

“We never doubted you for a moment, Merit.”

“Oh, and if anyone ever asks you, your father's name is Galvon.” Merit said to him, and the two laughed, “Now where is my w***e? It's been a long day.”

Ansell was about to respond when a low rumbling growl resonated from outside; Merit knew it was Ranthos, and became worried. Ranthos had been trained to be silent out of battle, and only made that noise when a threat encroached in his territory.

“Cover your fires! Everybody silent!” Merit shouted to the camp as he stepped into the clearing. He walked over to Ranthos and placed a reassuring hand on the creatures bottom lip. Merit stared into the gray sky, looking and listening, for anything that could make Ranthos react this way.

A great whooshing sound and faint laughter from far away made him look east. He saw movement against the sky that swooped down and soared just along the treetops. It wasn't until it turned towards the camp and got closer that Merit could see what it was, and he was astounded. How can this be? There is another?

It was a dragon. Smaller than his own, but still a dragon. But who's was it? And it flew directly towards them, Merit could now hear the rustling of its outstretched wings and the stirring of the leaves it flew over. It seemed to know that they were there, because it roared and quickly changed direction, making two girlish screams echo through the valley, followed by more playful laughter. And just as quick as they arrived, they spun in the air and disappeared behind the mountain.

They are heading towards the capitol.

This is definitely turning out better than we hoped. 

Author's Note

This is a chapter with a lot of firsts. First murder, first battle, and first time describing a dragon. Please let me know if there is anything dealing with those, and anything else you read, that need changing! Thank you!