Of Royal Blood

The King engaged the dark one amidst the corpses of many, both friend and foe. The dark one extended forth his hand and the grasses and trees that had not succumbed to the blood and fire of battle withered. The King, by the power of his bloodline, was untouched by the death though he grew tired.

It was August 14 of the year 1301 of the Irdrian Age. A bright sun still shone despite the encroaching clouds from the south. Ten fatigued riders urged their plodding steeds forward to an expansive city that spread out a short distance from them. Each rider was clad in a dark green linen shirt, brown trousers, and brown leather riding boots. Mottled green cloaks shrouded each man’s shoulder, fastened at the neck with a silver clasp in the shape a crescent moon. Some of the riders bore swords at their sides, while others had longbows and quivers on their backs or spears clutched in their hands.

The city that lay before the riders was Tyr—the only city in a country that was also named Tyr. It lay in the largest of this world’s three continents which was named Ethnor. It was a prosperous, wealthy country despite its small size, with a width that could be crossed in five day’s walk. It covered the land that jutted out from the continent of Ethnor like a fang at the mouth an expansive bay called ‘The Still Bay’, so named because of the bay’s calmness which made it appear like a large, smooth sheet of glass during winter. Tyr was very prosperous, having utilized the access to the sea and bay well for trade with other coastal cities of Ethnor and with the neighboring southern continent of Fand. A grand wall of cold grey stone encompassed the city on the landward side, standing forty feet high. Within the walls, the city of Tyr was a collection of stone, brick, and wood houses, none of which stood above four levels. Though thatched roofs could still be scene in the city, red, grey, and green tiled roofs were far more common due to the prosperity of the city. Over a dozen inns dwelled in Tyr to accommodate the great many merchants and seaman passing through the city. The marketplace in Tyr was renowned amongst its neighboring countries for its great variety of wares from a great host of nations.

The ten riders crossed into the city though the northern gate, the massive oaken gate doors flung open like welcoming arms. The riders were members of the city’s border guard. For eight days they had scoured the border to the north upon hearing word of large groups of strange folk camping along the northeastern border. The northeastern border, though narrow, was shared with the Bleak woods, which had long been home to wicked men and unnatural horrors. Though the border with the Bleak woods was narrow, the group of riders had searched along much of the northern border. Against the will of most of the riders, they journeyed half a league into the Bleak Woods, though ultimately they found nothing. They had slept little, and not soundly while near the Bleak Woods. They had ridden through the night before in order to reach the city by mid-morning.

The gate guards, standing at attention within the gate, spared curious, cursory glances at the ragged group of riders. Beyond the gate to the left of the paved road was a smaller, iron gate which marked the entrance to the garrison barracks and armory. Through this gate the riders rode and dismounted from their steeds. Stable attendants rushed forward to take the horses to the stable at the rear of the garrison.

The captain of the riders, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a weathered, bearded face, turned to his men and said wearily, “I shall go speak with the general. You are dismissed, men. Feel free to go eat and rest and see your families.” The captain turned and trudged into the barracks main building, his tiredness beginning to show.

The riders dispersed, heads hung low but spirits raised by being home. Two riders in particular headed out of the barracks. One was a lean man with fair skin and shoulder-length hair the color of tarnished bronze. He was neither tall nor short, though his leanness made him appear tall. His two hazel eyes gazed passively like those of a dead fish. An unkempt beard had grown during his time outside the city. Though he looked a few years older, he was in truth only twenty-three years of age. He clutched the polished steel pommel of the longsword that hung at his side as if to reassure himself that it was still with him.

The other man was tall, though he hunched forward slightly even when he was not exhausted from travel. He had sparse grey hair atop his oval head, with a thick, gray beard obscuring most of his weathered face. A long bow made of a pale wood hung across his back along with a quiver of smooth, well-crafted arrows.

The fair-skinned man was named Raul Meirwon and his elder was known as Burk. Neither man said a word to each other. They were both quiet-natured men. Each knew where they would go after such a search: The Golden Froth Inn. Down the streets toward the bay the two men strode, the bustling cityfolk casting sideways glances at their disheveled, mud-stained clothes and filthy, matted hair. Riding through rain and wind for much of their journey had left them worse for wear.

Scouring the edge of Tyr for some imagined enemy for days, a waste of time. Raul had thought for the entire search. The previous days’ journey was his first scouting mission longer than five days. Normally, He and Burk were used as trackers to pursue thieves or renegades in the fields of Tyr.

The undiscernible chatter of the Tyrians filled the streets, the words seeming to mix and bounce from paved street to stone wall. Raul liked the noise to an extent, for he had spent his childhood in the quiet Hett Marshes to the south of the Still Bay.

Before long, the two soldiers reached the Golden Froth Inn. It was a sturdy, two-story building which stretched along a wide paved road parallel to the bay shoreline. The more expensive rooms at the inn had windows overlooking the Still Bay. An old, faded sign above the inn’s front door read in golden letters ‘The Golden Froth’ with image of a stein overflowing with a yellow liquid. The first floor of the inn was the tavern, devoted to tables and chairs for patrons as well as a long bar running along the northern wall. Being midmorning, the tavern was mostly empty, with only five or so men lousing about.

His passive, uncaring gaze tended to convey an advanced knowledge or experience far beyond the level which he possessed. Even as the two men entered the Golden Froth for the fiftieth time, the patrons who despite having seen him so often before gave Rand narrow, suspicious glances.

The bartender, a particularly greasy fellow with bright yellow apron wrapped about his ample girth, briefly ceased grooming his glossy black mustache to ask, “What’ll you ’ave, men?”

“Two pints of mead to start, I think, Duill.” Burk said. Raul nodded in agreement. “And if you have any food prepared in the back, we’ll take two plates of that.” Burk added.

Duill, the bartender, immediately set to preparing the drinks, the light from the wide tavern windows reflecting off his shiny, hairless head. Burk and Rand sat on the cushioned chairs at the bar.

“Well, at least it’s over with now, eh, boy?” Burk mused to Rand. Two of the other tavern patrons that were sitting close enough to hear the two riders cast upward glances, thinking that the stoic, austere Raul would not deign to be called ‘boy’ by anyone. They knew little of Rand Meirwon other than he came from the marshlands to the south two years ago. He was an enigma which they had built up in their minds to be more frightening than he was in actuality.

Raul sighed softly and murmured, “It was a waste of time. Chasing shadows, nothing more.”

“Perhaps,” shrugged Burk. “I remember when I first joined the Tyrsian Guard, three hundred goblins came through Dunn and raided the farms on the eastern border. Took months to finish them all off.”

Duill plopped two green, ceramic pints of foaming yellow liquid on the bar in front of them.

“I know I should be mindin’ my own business, now.” Duill observed, tapping the palms of his hands on the wood bar. “But I was just wonderin’ if there was anythin’ to the rumors of brigands coming out of the Bleak Woods?”

“There was nothing we could find.” Burk answered, “Not even an abandoned fire for a camp.”

Raul took a long drink from his pint of mead before adding. “We couldn’t find a single pair of tracks that weren’t our own near the Bleak Woods.”

“Oh, well, that’s good to ’ear.” Duill asserted. “It’s just...” Duill paused. “There’s been talk of strangers lurking about the farms outside the city for the past couple nights. And nary a few people have seen ’em or so I’ve ‘eard. They’ve been searchin’ about—even in the city— for reasons I don’t gamble to guess.”

“I wouldn’t take rumors for absolute truth.” Burk remarked. “But there’s often a bit a truth in the most ludicrous rumors.”

“Right, right,” Duill agreed, scratching the back of his head. “I wouldn’t ’ave given much thought to the rumors ’cept so many people ‘ave been sayin’ they’ve seen the strangers. Tall ones. With covered loads on their backs like weapons. There’s been talk here and there of an invasion.”

Burk chortled. “Invasion? From who? No army could topple the walls of Tyr. And our army is large and well-armed. And the Tyrsian ships are faster and more agile than even the ships of Fand. It would be a foolish attempt to attack Tyr.”

“I’m not but a simple barman,” Duill replied indignantly. “I’m just passin’ on what I’ve ‘eard. You can’t fault me for that even if you don’t agree with what I’m passin’ on. And there’ve been many a mighty city put upon before and fallen when it not thought doable.”

“True,” Burk acceded. “But still not likely.”

Duill shrugged and bustled away to the kitchen.

“What say you, boy?” Burk asked, turning to Raul. “Is it an invasion?”

“I would think not,” Raul said.

Burk chortled again. “Quite right.”

Duill returned from the kitchen with two thick wooden platters which he slapped down on the table before the two men. A portion of seasoned, roasted lamb and a heap of mashed potatoes covered the plate. The two men ate their meals in silence.

After their much needed meal, Raul and Burk departed the Golden Froth. The sun was high in the sky, staring down on the city leaving no place for shadows. A gentle breeze greeted washed into the city from the bay. The water from the bay sloshed gently on the city pier, sloshing like a steady lullaby. The ships at the pier varied in size, some were small sloops and cutters while others were massive cargo vessels like Galleons with four towering masts. Hundreds of men bustled about the pier, carrying cargo aboards ships, unloading cargo from ships, mooring ships, and unmooring ships.

“Well, I’m going home now,” Burk announced, turning on his heels and west down the road toward his home. “I’ll see you tomorrow, boy.”

Raul grunted and turned the opposite direction. Rand resided at the barracks like most of the grunts. Though weary, he felt like walking after having a good meal. He strode slowly down the road along the pier feeling the fresh air from the bay. Tyr Manor stood less than a half a mile from him, surrounded by ramparts of cold, grey stone four flights high. The green banners of Tyr adorned the outer walls of the manor. Wide, arched gothic windows were set in the inner wall. Lord Wyll, Duke of Tyr, current ruler of Tyr resided in the manor and the magistrates of the city conducted their meetings within its walls as well.

As Raul gazed at the Manor, he noticed a swift movement in the corner of his eye. He turned and saw a narrow alley in between two rows of storehouses. He slowly stepped into the alley, surveying the alley curiously. The movement had come from a bend in the alley ten paces from the road upon which Raul had been walking. He started to turn back when back when he heard the patter of shoes on stone. He went forward into the alley, and as he did so, the patter went faster. In turn, he hastened his pace. This continued until Raul was at a full run. The source of the patter seemed ever out of reach, passing the next bend just Raul came round the prior bend. Several times Raul came to a fork and had to stop and listen before deciding which path to take, though it soon became evident that the person was avoiding the alleys that led to roads with people. Suddenly, the patter stopped. As Raul came around the corner, he saw his quarry.

It was a girl. She was young, no more than twenty years of age. Her jet black hair was pulled back from her fair-skinned face. She was beautiful, but in her eyes was the ferocity and desperation of a cornered animal. She was clad in a silver gown that had been torn away from the knees down, showing scraped and bloody shins. In her shaking hand she held a knife pointed toward Raul.

Raul raised his hands in a placating gesture, but said nothing.

“What do you want? Go away!” She demanded, her fierce gaze burning into Raul.

Raul stared back dispassionately. “I’m not a threat. I’m just a guardsman.” He informed, his hands still upraised to show he held nothing.

“Guardsmen are a threat,” she spat.

“I’m but a novice,” Raul assured. “I’m just curious about why you’re creeping in dirty alleyways. Maybe I can help.”

“Help? Like murdering more people?” She said, glowering.

Peculiar, Raul thought. “I do not know of what you speak. If you perhaps tell me, I might be able to help you.” He said.

“As if I could trust you,” She sneered. “You have the look of a liar about you.”

“Could I at least learn your name?” Raul queried.

“You may not.” She answered, with less venom than before.

Raul ticked his tongue. “Well, I can see plainly that you are avoiding us soldiers, which bespeaks a criminal.”

“I am no criminal,” She insisted.

Raul found himself believing her despite himself. Yet he had no desire to become embroiled in whatever situation this girl had been put. “Very well,” Raul said, stepping aside. “If you tell me your name, you may leave.”

The girl glared suspiciously. She muttered something indiscernible under her breath before dashing past Raul and into the alley beyond. Raul stood silently for several moments, his brow furrowed, before shaking his head and leaving the alley. He turned his boots toward the barracks, his mind set upon resting.

The next day, August 15, brought sunshine and clear air. Raul leaned on the parapet of the barracks rampart. A guardsman, whose name Raul could not recall, stood guard nearby, chattering out of boredom.

“I don’t like being put on barrack duty,” the guard informed, possibly to Rand and possibly to the wind. “It’s just standing and staring for hours. I hate it.”

Raul said nothing. He just stared at the Still Bay.

“It’s better than dealing with criminals, I suppose.” The guard noted, carrying the conversation in the stead of Rand. “I had my nose broken by a smuggler last year. And just the other day, I got my hand bitten by some girl. An escaped murderer, I think she was. She put up quite a fight. Kicking and screaming. She nearly got me with her knife. It took five of us to stop her.”

Raul’s ears pricked up. “Girl?” He said.

“Yeah, some young girl,” the guard confirmed. “They said she was a murderer.”

“What did she look like?” Raul inquired.

“Ugh, tall, for a girl,” The guard said. “She had dark hair.”

“Who did she murder?” Raul asked.

“How should I know? Since when have we ever been told that much?” the guard said.

“Never mind,” Raul said, with a wave of his hand.

“I’m sorry that I don’t know, but I was just told to bring the girl in.” The guard said, trying to keep the conversation going. “She must have been important though. They took her to the Duke’s dungeon to be tried.”

“The Duke’s dungeon? I thought that was reserved for treason.” Raul said.

“I…I don’t know.” The guard said, uncertainly.

“Aye, it is reserved for those guilty of treason. Though I do not know of anyone being held there these past few years.” Burk interjected, coming up the stone steps from the courtyard to the barrack rampart.

“Oi, well, maybe she did that as well?” the guard offered, seeming to lose all intent to watch the city.

“Don’t know,” Burk shrugged.

Raul nodded to Burk in greeting.

“But what brings to mind dungeons on such a morning?” Burk queried.

Raul was about to reply when the guard answered instead. “Well, we were just talking about a criminal that got loose. Some girl who had gone and murdered someone. Or more than one, maybe.”

“Ah, yes, the murderer girl. I’ve heard a little about her just this morning,” Burk said.

“The Duke was quite adamant about her capture. He came down to the barracks personally to make sure plenty of the guardsmen were set on patrol, as well as sent to reinforce the city gates.” The guard informed. “So she must’ve been quite dangerous.”

“I would not trust the Duke’s word on such things.” Raul said, dryly. “He does not seem one to concern himself with anything that does not profit him.”

“Careful, boy,” Burk warned. “Do not speak of things you do not know. That could be considered treasonous talk.”

Raul dismissed Burk’s warning with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t think either of you are going to turn me in, are you?” He asked, looking at them both.

“Uh, no, I suppose not,” said the guard, shifting uncomfortably.

“There are always prying ears though, boy,” Burk said, with a disapproving shake of his head. “Duke Wyll is a prideful, ill-tempered man. He’s had head rolls for lesser remarks.”

Raul gave a sardonic laugh. “Now who is speaking treason?”

The guard, now greatly discomforted, turned his attention back to his guard duties.

Burk shook his head is disapproval of Raul’s indifference to potential danger. “I’ve had word from the captain,” Burk said, changing the subject. “We may be sent out again to check the borders.”

“What?” Raul exclaimed. “For what reason? We’ve already searched the border.”

Burk shrugged and started to speak but stopped. Tremors shook the ground. Small tremors at first, but growing steadily greater. Shrieks and cries rose up in the city. Those on the rampart walls grabbed the parapets so as not to fall into the courtyard. Many of the weaker buildings in the city caved as the walls were shaken asunder. A foul air came up from the bay, choking out the cries of the confused citizenry.

“What is this?” Burk cried.

“An earthquake?” Raul shouted in response.

A guard captain stumbled out from the base of the main tower. He shouted orders at the few soldiers in the courtyard and on the ramparts, but his voice was drowned out by the rumble of the ground. The soldiers clutched at wall and pillars, struggling to maintain their footing on the quaking ground.

The roar of quaking ground gave way to a sound like a roaring wave. Raul looked south, to the bay and saw, rising out of the pier a gigantic green mass. As it rose, the fury of the quake dissipated. The ships in the pier were crushed or swished away like lives on the water. What at first appeared to be a green island five times the size of Duke Wyll’s manor rising out of the water was something else entirely. The gargantuan mass was a serpentine head with colossal, lidless eyes on either side. A mouth filled with hundreds of teeth the size of horses filled its maw. The stench from the creature was so great as to wither grass and greenery. The head rose up out of the bay, reaching far above the city to stare down. Its vast coils curled above the surface of the water, seeming to fill up the bay as far as the eye could see.

Raul stared blankly at the monster, his arms trembling even while clutching the stone parapet. Though most of it lay below the surface of the bay, it was easily the size of a mountain. Raul felt the eyes penetrating the city and under that gaze he could not find the strength in his legs to move him. He was filled with a terror he had never felt before. This creature was ancient, a beast from a darker time.