The Dawning of the Crown

This story takes place approximately a year after the events in book one. Begin the journey here: https://www.inkitt.com/stories/1513690

Pix called out into the darkness. She was bound to a chair, two Varanthian guards on either side of her, each dressed in black armor. The guard on her right side reached over and struck her in the face. The other chuckled at the brutality. Pix desperately tried to work her hands free, but they were tied too tightly. She cried out for Adair but the only sound she heard was faint water dripping onto granite stones.

“No one is coming to help you, grub.” The guard on the left snickered. “But by all means, keep struggling, it is so very entertaining.”

Pix began to weep, begging for her life. She received several more blows to the head instead of mercy. Just when she thought she could bear no more, a sound from the hallway halted the assault. She let her head drop, blood slowly running down her face, stinging her eyes.

“Bout time the Butcher got here.”

The guard on the left arched his eyebrows. “The Flayer, you mean?”

“Call him whatever you want. As long as he gets results.”

Pix heard the sound of whistling coming from the great dark corridor behind, an old sailing tune called The Piper’s Lament. The door suddenly swung open, and a burly man entered. He was wearing a brown leather pinafore, smeared with blood and gore. In his hands he held up a blade, its metal cooly glinting in the dim room.

Pix struggled against the ropes that held her fast, shaking the chair. The dungeon master crouched before her, lifting the blade until its tip hovered mere inches from her wide, terrified eyes.

“Keep 'em open, girl, or else I’ll gouge them out.”

The man flicked his wrist and raked the blade down the flesh of her face. Pix screamed a single, desperate word, Adair’s name.

An echoing voice, smooth and venomous, seemed to speak from inside her head.

“He won’t come for you,” Seth’s voice echoed in her mind. “He’s left you. Why would he care about an undergroundling?”

Pix winced as flames suddenly rose up around her. She saw a tall figure, little more than a silhouette, standing beyond the dungeon master’s shoulder. The silhouette took shape before her and their eyes met, but the man lowered his gaze. He turned his back to her, and walked away. Adair was leaving her, and once more, the guards laughter rang out.

“Adair!” She shrieked, thrashing about in her bindings.

She felt the heat overtake her, the scorching of her flesh. Then nothing.

A strong arm enfolded her, drawing her close. A man muttered in her ear. “Pix, you are safe, I am here.”

She opened her eyes, gasping. The bedroom swam before her, the candles burning low. Thin, grey, predawn light was glowing in through the bedroom windows. She had kicked off her cover during the night but was still drenched in sweat. Adair had his arm around her, holding her in a strong, soothing embrace.

“Were you dreaming of the dungeons again?” The king murmured into her ear.

“Y-yes, it was awful. It-“

“Shhhh,” Adair uttered, “you don’t have to explain.” Adair himself had been sentenced to the dungeons before he and his companions escaped from the ore mine in which they labored. It wasn’t a time he wished to ever recall, and knew Pix felt the same.

The Varanthians had fled after their defeat, some vanishing within the darker corners of the world, others fleeing beyond Eldoria’s boundaries, taking refuge in uncharted lands. The Empire was broken, the threat of their regime had been neutralized. But their echoes lingered still.

Pix rolled beneath Adair’s arm, turning so her face was now buried in his chest. Her arms still prickled with imagined heat, gooseflesh raising on them. Outside, bluejays and cardinals called to each other, their lilting songs soothing her. He kissed the top of her head, holding her tight. She was safe, as was he. They were in Zeldon, not the dank dungeons of Roth. The heat of Adair’s chest, the soft cotton of the shirt beneath her cheek - that was real, not ropes and fire, brutality and blood.

She knew she should arise as there was much to do. It was their wedding day, after all. But she felt so warm in Adair’s arms, so loved, that she drifted back into an easy, peaceful sleep.

She awoke a second time to the sound of splashing water. Adair was at the wash basin, shaving. He caught her looking at him from the mirror and smiled.

“What time is it?” Pix asked from the bed, stretching languorously.

“Half past ten in the morning,” Adair answered, glancing at the brass and gears of the clock. Pix, taking after her father, had built the timepiece with her own hands.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have slept so late,” Pix said, suddenly leaping up. “There is still so much that has to be done!”

“You needed it.” Adair said, as he pulled a grey, silken shirt over his head. Pix had seen there were a great many scars upon the flesh of his chest and back from his encounter in the dungeons and from heavy battles. Each of them had been through so much and yet had remained miraculously unbroken.

Adair turned to face Pix. “Don’t worry, they won’t start without you.” He smiled playfully at her.

The king finished dressing, buckling his golden breastplate on last, the etched phoenix glinting in the mid morning sun. He was outfitted in the finest regalia of the Kaelian Order. As a final touch, he sheathed a ceremonial longsword at his side. The armor was lighter than his battle regalia, and shinier, glinting in the mid morning sun. It felt strange wearing something so ceremonial after many years spent in heavy plate mail. He smoothed his golden hair back and then came up to Pix, who was standing in her nightgown still, and drew her into his arms.

“Never in my life did I imagine anything other than dealing with the Empire. Fighting was all I knew. I never dreamed I could have peace.”

Pix ran her fingers down Adair’s battle-scarred face.

“Thank you for being in my life. You have brought joy to my heart, something that I never believed I would have had in my lifetime.”

Pix stood on tip toe to place her lips upon Adair’s.

A knock came from the bedchamber door. Adair released Pix begrudgingly, and opened the door. There were three young Goblin women standing in the doorway.

“Is Miss Pix ready, Krohl Adair?”

Pix was hurrying around throwing clothes left and right, muttering aloud, looking for her bridal gown. Adair smiled at the three girls. “I believe Miss Pix needs a little more time.”

“Oh, can we help?” One of the Goblins asked.

“Yes, please!” Pix called from the bedchamber.

Adair stood aside and let the three women enter. “I’ll leave you in good hands, Pix.” He said, exiting the room. One of the three Goblin girls closed the door behind him, which caused Adair to chuckle a little.

Adair stepped outside and onto the streets of Zeldon. They had begun to rebuild, and there was machinery everywhere. Large machines with ropes and gears that hauled giant pieces of stone into the air hummed as he walked past. There was much to rebuild, and it was going to take time. But they no longer had to fear retribution from the Empire. They could rebuild in peace.

The machinery whirred, and dust plumed from the turning gears. Even so, the air was clear and crisp, and the smell of fresh pressed apples was in the air. The warmer months were winding down and now it was almost time for the later part of the year. The Goblins called it the Witherwane, but in Kael, the season was simply known as the Fade.

Goblins waved at the king as he strolled down the city streets, the low sun turning the white buildings a golden color. Trees were beginning to slumber, their leaves becoming vibrant oranges and reds. Adair loved this time of year. It was a beautiful season within Tremain, yet was somehow even more beautiful within Weilthrog. They were getting ready to enter into a new season, a new era. And he vowed to be there every step of the way.

He entered the market square, where Goblins were selling fruits and flowers of all kinds from little white carts. There were young children running from cart to cart, purchasing great red apples, blueberries, and plums. Laughter rang out onto the city street. One of the children ran over to Adair and handed him a golden flower. The king took it and thanked the little girl, and she giggled and blushed furiously before rejoining her mates.

Adair’s eyes looked over the floral arrangements, wanting to choose the perfect ones for Pix.

“Excuse me,” he called to one of the flower merchants, “what are these beautiful flowers called?”

“Crane flowers, Krohl Adair,” the female Goblin curtseyed to the king. “Finest in all the land.” Adair turned one over in his hand, debating.

“I would go for the orchids,” a familiar voice said from over the Adair’s shoulder. “The red ones. They symbolize passion and strength in our culture. Perfect for who I am assuming they are for, wouldn’t you think?”

“Vlor!” Adair called, giving his friend a handclasp. He paid the merchant a gold piece for the orchids, and turned to the Goblin. “I heard not if you were coming to the wedding. I believed I had slighted you in some way.”

“Nay, it’s not that. I fully intend on coming, but, well.” He paused. “What do you think the other nobles of Kael will think? I just was a grub in the mines of Roth, I still have scars on my face that can not be hidden. Before that, I was a lowly farmer. Do you think they will be accepting of me? I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“And I care not what they think,” Adair said. “You are my friend, and I will tell anyone so. It won’t be the same without you there. I wanted you to be my honor attendant. After everything we had been through it only seemed right.”

Vlor seemed stunned. “You’d trust me with that? Over Zacharious or one of the other Kaelian Lords?”

“I’ve trusted you with my life, I still trust you with my life. We’ve been through so much, I wanted to honor you for your friendship. And I can think of no greater way than to have you stand by my side at my wedding. Care not what the nobility have to say, they are of the old ways of Kael, the ways that can not continue if we are to continue. Their time is coming to an end, and they know it. Besides,” Adair said with a chuckle, “what do you think they say about me, marrying one of your kind? If anyone shall have harsh words towards them, it will be I. But they’d best remember,” Adair said, becoming serious again, “whom they serve. Who is still King of the Kaels. I’ve heard the things they’ve said about me. A lot of it unkind. We’ve handled worse in the ore mines, though.”

Vlor nodded and Adair smiled.

“So it’s settled then?” He said, placing his hands on his friend’s shoulders. “You’ll be there?”

“ I wouldn’t miss it for all the riches in Eldoria.”

Adair picked up the orchid bouquet and walked with Vlor through the market. “Tell me, how has the rebuilding of the garden sector been going?”

“It’s been going well. The Dwarves have been kind in sending us rock and marble for our efforts. There is still much to be done,” he said looking Adair in the eye, “but with your support, we’ll get there.”

“And you shall have it,” the king answered.

They passed a tavern, and Adair motioned toward the door. “Have a drink with me?” He asked the Goblin.

Vlor shrugged, smiling. “Aye, why not?”

Adair entered the tavern and the crowd hushed. They never expected the King of the Kaels, the Krohl of the land, to step foot into their little establishment and have a drink as if he were just like the rest of them.

The king and Vlor sat at a table by themselves. A barmaid came over and brought them two mugs of mead.

“No charge,” she winked at the king, who smiled at her.

Vlor drank deeply, half closing his eyes. “Remember back in the ore mines when we were drinking rain water from an old, dented can? We sure have come a long way. Never did I think I would see Weilthrog again. Then you showed up.” He quietly chuckled. “You were so good at rescuing us, yet it was I who rescued you that first day.”

“I remember,” Adair said earnestly. “And I have been in your debt since.”

Vlor waved a hand of dismissal. It was Adair’s turn to drink.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.” Vlor said, his eyes downcast.

“It’s okay, my friend,” Adair told the Goblin, “you’ve been busy with the rebuild.”

“No, well yes, I have. But it wasn’t just that.” Vlor took another deep drink of mead. Adair looked at his friend, concerned. “I have had some sad news of late. Remember when I thought I was going to die in the desert? I told you of the woman I loved, Gleea?”

Adair nodded. “Have you heard something?”

“Unfortunately, yes. She never made it out of Weilthrog. All these years I had held out hope she may yet be safe, just to have them dashed in a moment’s time.”

“Vlor, I am so very sorry,” Adair said. Vlor smiled sadly.

“Thank you. I truly loved her, Adair. There will never be another, I think.” He placed his mug on the table top with a light clink. “You can see why I have distanced myself from you and Pix. It may not have been the right thing to do, but it was the best thing for me.”

Adair pondered upon his old teacher’s words, what was right and what was best, he always used to ask the young knight. Rarely were they ever the same.

“I understand,” Adair said quietly. “It had to have been hard seeing our happiness when you were so shattered.”

“It was, and I thank you for understanding. It was like seeing everything I could never have.” Unbidden came the image of Gleea in the city gardens, long before the war. He remembered her shy smiles and warm hands, stolen kisses underneath a scattering of stars overhead. His eyes softened.

“If you do not wish to come to the wedding-”

“Oh, I’ll be there! And I will be your attendant, if you so wish.” He said, blinking back the memory. “ I am glad you have found your happiness, you and Pix both. It was just a hard time for me for a few weeks. It was hard to remember that there are people out there who care when your own world is falling down around you.”

Adair finished his own mug of mead. “Anything you shall ever need, just say the word.”

Vlor nodded. “Just take good care of each other. Don’t take your love for each other for granted.”

They finished their drinks and arose from the table, all eyes in the establishment upon them. The barmaid waved as they stepped out the door, then went back to wiping at the bar with her rag.

They parted ways at the intersection, Adair telling Vlor when the wedding party would set out. They hugged and Adair traveled back to the heart of the city, where his house and his soon to be wife were waiting for him. The manor had not been chosen on a whim. The elders of Zeldon had bequeathed it to the king after the war. It was an old house, sturdy and warm. from which he performed his kingly duties. They offered it not as a reward but as a welcome.

As he walked the streets, the cobble stones echoing faintly under his boot steps, he glimpsed someone from across the way who seemed out of place. Someone in dark red and black robes watching him. He blinked hard and the stranger was gone. Adair shook his head, trying not to think about what he had seen. He still found himself dreaming about the Nether and Seth, but rarely did his dreams cross into reality anymore. It must be nerves for the upcoming ceremony that caused him to see this phantom, yet something in his stomach clenched in dread.

Adair entered his home, and was intercepted by the three Goblin women.

“Pix is ready, but you can not see her.”

Adair was concerned, but heard her voice ring out from behind the door. “It is our tradition, once in the marriage gown, the woman can not be seen until the time of the ceremony. I told them, I don't care much about tradition, but they are worried it will bring bad luck to the union.”

“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want that!” Adair called to her. “I can ride on ahead and meet you at the grove.” Deep within the Wildwoods was a tree sacred to the Goblin people, one which Oona the Goddess of Home, Hearth and War was supposed to have planted with her own hands during the Witherwane. It was the season of endings and oaths. The Goblins believed those who wed beneath the flowering tree would have Oona’s blessings on the ceremony itself.

Adair wrapped the orchids he had purchased in the market in fabric and carefully placed them into a bag he was to take with him, laying them on top of the ancient tome of binding. He would give them to her at the grove, during the ceremony, he thought smiling.

He set out to find his horse. He knew not how the others would react at the wedding, and cared little. He had found true, unconditional love, and he would protect that love at all costs. He glanced behind him one last time before mounting his horse, at his house that he and Pix shared together. His heart swelled at the thought of carrying her over the threshold as Pix Dalphicai.

From behind the oaken bed chamber door, Pix was being fussed over by the three Goblin women. They were brushing her short hair, trying to get it to be something more manageable for the wedding. The red bandanna she always wore, a gift from Jacx when she had joined his crew, was left by the wayside. The large crescent shaped scar above her right brow stood out, white and raised. She ran her fingers over it while the Goblins fussed with her dress, weaving in flowers with a strong golden thread. She wondered what the people would think of her. She had scars upon her face and calluses on her hands, a fighter and a survivor, not a woman of noble breeding. But Adair never made her feel as if she were out of place, he would kiss her scars and hold her hands, deep devotion mirrored in his grey eyes. Her hands relaxed.

Pix was glancing out a window as the sewing was going on, wondering where the seasons had gone. It had been a long, hard year, but finally they were at the beginning of the end. Syndar would be right around the corner, the Goblin new year. And with it the Syndarian Festival. She couldn’t wait to take Adair to one, to let him see the sky poppers and parade him round the grounds, having him taste new foods and drinking grog and mead. She only wished her father could be here to see how far his little one had come. He had big aspirations for her becoming a steam-pilot. If only he could see her now.

“This is so exciting!” One of the Goblin maid’s exclaimed, Pix’s friend Zela. “I bet you never thought you’d go from freedom fighter to queen!”

“Oh gods, I hadn’t even thought of that!” She said, her eyes wide. “I hope they don’t expect me to wear dresses like this every day. I can’t,” she said.

The Goblin maids laughed.

“That would indeed be the end of you,” her other friend, Mazi, spoke up.

“What do you think the Kaelian Lords will say?” The third Goblin girl, Demi said.

“Honestly, I don’t like to think about it. Adair seems more like us than I seem like them.” They all nodded. “He went out of his way to learn our culture. I know almost nothing about theirs. I know I will be met with derision.” Pix continued, “but if it means being by Adair’s side for all time, then I will endure it. He has endured worse on my behalf.”

“You are a braver woman than I,” Zela said. “Being under all that scrutiny.”

“I hadn’t really thought of that till now, thanks.”

“Sorry,” her friend said laughing. “Have you thought of anything else but Adair?”

Pix shrugged, and all of them shared a laugh.

“We will weather this storm, as we have others before us. The winds may howl, and the gale may be unleashed, but only death shall part us.”