Jules examined his captain in concern. “What’s happening to him?” he urged.
Ahna smiled reassuringly. “He is bound to me.” She raised her banded wrist at Jules. “Everything I see, he will see. Everything I feel, he will feel. He won’t be able to respond to you, and he must not be moved. He is fully conscious.”
Jules acknowledged. Ahna stepped outside the circle and headed toward the entrance. She turned to the shrike lieutenant before reaching the threshold. “Both bindings will only last until dark. Jules, you must make sure he is kept safe. And I must move quickly!”
She disappeared through the door. She swiftly untied Bark’s reins, led him toward the path, and mounted her horse to race toward the gates of Bravoure.
The city used to be a land known for its principles of solidarity. The vow the serene Bravan people had pledged was that no race, no sex, no identity, no being shall walk Terra alone. The materialization of this vow had been the old treaty of unity between human and elves. The two races had then welcomed a new dwarven dynasty, and it had not taken too long before the forests of Bravoure were populated by nomadic wood elves.
The capital stood tall near the southern cliffs of the kingdom. They said the castle of Bravoure rested on the ashes of the humble Ghydra, the god dragon who had chosen to live among the mortals and guide them to eternal peace. Later in history, Bravoure had even opened its gates to the outcast elves from the Dwellunder. It became their refuge, a great symbol of the possibility of redemption.
Yet what had once been an era of harmony had become tormented by the cumulated sins of its people. There had been fear, envy, resentment. The trinity of destructive emotions that could only lead down to a path of darkness. A caste system. The shadow of an aristocratic regime. A great divide between the people and the wealthier bourgeoisie.
Bravoure had fallen gravely ill, ill of its past failures and ill of the hardship the innocents had to endure. The golden gates had closed. The city had begun to simmer from the embers of near civil war.
On the verge of the city collapsing, the Dwellunder emerged from below. The war had raged on until Bravoure had been forced to surrender to a new and sinister regime. Lord Xandor Kun Sharr had taken the golden throne, and Bravoure had sunk further into a corrupt and somber bottomless pit.
Ahna led Bark right outside, adjacent the city gates. She whispered instructions to him for him to roam back to the granary. She softly tapped his rump, and the steed headed straight back into the fields.
When the elf scanned her surroundings, a crowd of commoners were going through the corroded gold gates. There was no emotion in their lifeless eyes, just the color of sad routine. Ahna blended among the crowd, and she stepped into the city with a cold feeling of dread.
People walked the mudded ground of the Main Pass. Most of them were cowled, curled upon themselves. They hurried past each other as though they wished to remain unseen. The paved road further into the city led to a gloom market. This place had once flourished with riches from all corners of Terra. Nowadays, it was filled with scraps of scavenged goods and rotting fruits and meat. There was a putrid odor coming from below the market. Ahna could not help but hold her hand in front of her mouth and nose, to prevent herself from breathing in the horrible stench.
She marched into the city, cowled, with a long black cloak above her leathers. Beyond the market, to the east region, there was a bridge with plated gold railing. Any preservation effort of the bridge had been abandoned after Sharr’s ascension to the throne. The gold had been scratched off by time, and the rusted copper underneath had given it a greenish tinge. Ahna strolled on the bridge and looked over the railing. There was no trace left of the pure water that had once run through the Bravan canals.
Ahna’s heart weighed heavy in her chest as she observed the capital. She raised her eyes to the southeastern quadrant of the city. Over the myriad of tainted roofs spreading to the edge stood a tall edifice. It was not the castle. It was not the cathedral’s beacon of the old Congregation. Ahna’s heart stopped. She was looking at the arcane spire that sat atop the scorched Academy’s highest tower. The building had been darkened by the ashes of its fallen disciples.
A few trepid passersby who walked over the bridge glanced at Ahna. They looked terrified of her, of what she might do to them. She wanted to assure them she was no threat, but what would that have served anyway?
Ahna pursued her mission to the south of the city, to the castle walls. Her eyes stayed fixed on the spire for as long as it was in sight. She walked the main road as a vagabond in search of a distant home. Passersby still stared. Even the guards had begun to notice her. But she was dokkalfar, with silver hair, and none would dare apprehend her. They probably inspected her for other reasons.
She caught a glimpse of a group of robed men marching by the castle road. Each wore a long black tunic branded with the notorious Mark of Sharr. Only she seemed to know the symbol was of the Magi Academy, the glyph of the Ancients. Their faces were covered by the infamous warlock’s mask, a white cast of plaster, the reason why people referred to Sharr’s magi as the Defaced.
As she stepped onto the castle road, she was suddenly stopped by an alert guard.
“State your purpose, dryaa.”
She gazed at him, breathed in slowly, and took a confident stance. “I’ve come to see the Prince of Mal.”
The guard raised an eyebrow in perplexity. She plunged her poised glare into his, and he seemed to shiver beneath her eyes. Confused by exactly why he was compelled to heed her request, he stepped aside and let Ahna walk the castle road.
And there she stood. She faced the tall structure of sand marble, by the outer gate of the bright golden bridge, barred by four guards. This bridge was the only entrance to the castle, and it had been maintained and polished, even by Sharr’s men. She came closer to the guards, who adopted a military stance. They stood upright, chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in, ready to receive her. Ahna was prepared. Her dark cloak gave the formal allure of someone of a higher rank. But what indeed reinforced her appearance was her hair, uncommon for most dokkalfar. It made her look like an even higher authority, almost royalty.
“Good day,” they said, anxiously.
Ahna gave them a single, confident nod. “I am here to see Lord Sharr.”
The guards eyed each other, uncertain of what to do. She roared her orders in Higher-Dokkalfari, a Dwellunder dialect of monarchs. After their heads bounced left and right, they stepped to the side and let her pass.
Ahna walked upon the golden bridge, past the gatehouse, and stepped into the inner ward of the castle. There, the enclosed gardens were of stupefying beauty. The well-maintained courtyard grew flowers of a thousand colors, trees with bright red fruits, and golden statues were sprinkled around the yard. The stables stood to her left, with different stalls, populated by a team of nightmare stallions.
As she strolled in admiration toward the archway that led to the castle’s main entrance, she was stopped by an additional set of two guards. The tall men looked stern and motioned that they would, under no circumstances, let her through.
“I’ve come to speak with Lord Sharr,” Ahna stammered, but with a hint of pride.
The guards shook their heads. One of them scowled at her with his red eyes. “Lord Sharr does not accept visitors. Withdraw or suffer the consequences, dryaa.”
“Tell him it’s important. Tell him the Duchess...of Talmuur is here.”
Talmuur...Lilth’s province. Let’s pray this works.
A pearl of sweat dripped down the nape of Ahna’s neck. She painfully ignored it and did her best to turn her fear into severity.
“I will not repeat myself,” she firmly warned. “Tell him the Duchess of Talmuur wants to see him.”
The two guards remained still, and a few moments passed by. By the garden, there was a tiny wood elf, who wore soiled clothes and a black apron, tending to the flowers. The elf looked curiously in their direction.
The door
to the castle hall opened, and a third guard came to them. “What is this about?”
“This dryaa wants an audience with his Majesty. She says she’s the Duchess of Talmuur!” The two others laughed together with grating voices.
The guard by the door looked at her with a twisted grin. “Duchess of Talmuur? We kill those from Talmuur.”
Ahna wanted to blast them out of existence, but the risk of using any other magic was too significant, as it could break her bond with Cedric. So, she did the next best thing. The Duchess of Talmuur cover was not getting her anywhere with these guards. Though they seemed to believe her, they would not let her in. She needed Lord Sharr to hear it directly, to hear her. But what could she say that would immediately grant her the audience she had been waiting for? What was the only thing she could say to get Lord Sharr’s undivided attention?
“I am Meriel Arkamai,” she shouted with all her energy. “Archmage of the Magi Academy of Bravoure. Go to Lord Sharr and tell him who I am.”
The guards laughed again. Their laughter overtook her voice.
“Are we supposed to applaud?” the left one asked nonchalantly.
“So what is it lady? Are you a duchess or an…archmage?” the right one inquired. He examined her from head to feet. A vile and lewd smile stretched upon his face as he seemed to devour her with his squinted eyes. Ahna hated that smile. One too familiar. One she had desperately spent the last decades scratching off her memory.
The third guard headed back inside, and the two others kept on smiling. Ahna held her stance, unsure of what to do next.
The one with the ugly smile went to grab her by her left arm. “Alright, you’ve tested our patience enough!”
She struggled against his firm grip, fiercely threatened him with a punch to the jaw. His head was knocked back. When he recovered his senses, he growled and seized her shoulders. Before he could do anything else, the third guard stepped outside again and ordered for him to stop. The third guard glanced at Ahna with rounded eyes. His mouth was open, as though he could no longer speak.
“You may enter,” he finally stuttered, bushed by his own words. The two others looked at each other with mouths agape. “Lord Sharr will see you now.”
The gates clicked behind her, and Ahna took a deep breath.
Lord Sharr will see you now.
The astonished guard escorted her past the antechamber, to the entrance of the throne room. She sauntered hesitantly, her heart pounded loud in her chest. She could feel her painful heartbeat as though the organ would burst out of her ribcage. Once the guard let her in the large hall, he left her there and headed back into the antechamber.
The Great Hall stood high in bricks of sand marble. There were four large, inanimate tables placed symmetrically in the hall. Nobody sat on the massive marble chairs. Six guards at each side of the room were posted with spears, their faces covered by silversteel helmets from the Dwellunder. Beyond the tables and guards were a small set of stairs that led to the platform upon which rested the golden throne.
The throne stood underneath an alcove adorned with a large windowpane, facing the wealthiest part of the city. The southwest was still polished in wealth, it is where the Dwellunder dokkalfar now mostly lived. This part of Bravoure city was highly maintained. There was a glaring contrast between the prosperity of the district and the filth and poverty of the rest. On the walls of the Great Hall were tapestries embroidered in gold of the previous kings and queens of Bravoure. Sharr had chosen to preserve them in the castle walls, mostly for their beauty and value.
The moment Ahna stepped into the throne room, she felt the glares of a dozen marksmen ready to shoot. She did not see them, but she knew they were there, watching her. One false move, and she would be dead.
By the golden throne, on top of the platform, stood a dark yet majestic figure. Ahna’s heart stopped. The man stared pensively outside the window, his hands clasped behind his back. She could only see his long black coat made of boiled stallion leather. Ahna walked toward him and paused as she reached the staircase. She opened her mouth, however a lump in her throat prevented her from speaking. The dokkalfar prince turned to her. He deeply penetrated her with his glowing amber eyes. The daylight touched the alcove’s floor, and the twilight blue of his skin shone like early dawn. He strolled slowly toward her until he stood right above her, on high of the steps.
“Meriel...it’s been too long.”
Ahna looked up to the dark figure of the man she had once known. His thick silver hair, too much like hers, tucked delicately behind his pointed ears, smoothly fell on his shoulders. His nose aligned perfectly in the middle of his angled face, and the malicious smile on his face haunted her.
“When they told me the Resistance had a mage, I hoped it was you. But when my spy confirmed it, oh, you have no idea...” His voice…husky and infected by gloom. “Still go by Mother’s name, now, do you?”
Xandor looked at Ahna silently, the two remained still for a moment. He inhaled deeply before speaking his next words. “Was Meriel Ahn Sharr too much of a burden to you, dear sister?”
Ahna’s body stiffened. Her eyes fixed on Xandor, she was torn between her sense of duty and a long lost feeling as she looked at her brother. She cleared her throat to finally speak.
“You have no right to call me sister,” she stated, her lips trembling.
The confrontation she had long avoided finally crashed before her eyes. She had so much to say yet so much she wished to keep silent. The resentment she wanted to share, the sick affection she tried to repress, emotions that clawed through the walls of her mind right at this moment. Her brother. The curse she had run away from, twice. He, who had taken everything from her.
“I’ve brought our empire to the surface, Meriel. Something far bigger than Father could ever have imagined. This land was filled with animals. I restored peace to this putrid chaos. They were turning on each other, these fools! Now, only order reigns thanks to me.”
Ahna slowly shook her head in disapproval. “Father was mad!” Her voice echoed in the silence of the Great Hall. “You are evil, which is much worse.”
“Have you come to finally lecture me, dear sister? It took you, what? Fifty years? Spare me the reprimands, Meriel, you’re half a century late.”
Ahna wanted to rebuke, to blame her brother for the insanities of a lifetime. But she had to keep her feet in the ground and stick to the mission.
“You and Mother with your magi arrogance,” Xandor continued. “You never approved of anything Father or I was doing. All the glory we brought to Mal, and all the good I brought here.”
Ahna could not hold it in anymore. “Mother saw what you were becoming!”
“Mother abandoned me! When she fled with you and Thamias, it broke my heart. She made me this way.” His voice had ended in a desperate cry.
Ahna scoffed. “Don’t you dare blame her for your madness. And don’t you dare blame her now, after what you did to her.”
Xandor regained his stance. A thin smile drew slowly on his face. His eyes darkened with a known evil, and his teeth showed. “She got less than what she deserved.”
Ahna remained in shock. Shocked by her brother’s words and by the darkest of turns this conversation had taken. Xandor kept his spiteful gaze on her.
“Did Thamias deserve what you did to him?” Ahna finally asked, her voice breaking.
Xandor chuckled and motioned for her to come closer to him. “The one destined to kill me? Yes, he got what he deserved too. Not even a glorious prophecy can destroy me, Meriel.”
Ahna pursed her lips to silence her wrath. The thought of Thamias, the Dragonborn she had named, their brother, had brought up the old rage she could repress no more. “Thamias couldn’t even kill you! Why execute him, your own brother? How could you?”
Xandor instantly let out a hysterical laugh. As he waved his hand slowly again, Ahna gave in and marched up the stairs. When she came close to him, he wiped off her cowl with his hand and caressed the side of
her face.
“Oh, Meriel, you mention it yourself, we made a deal with demons. I couldn’t kill Thamias, even if I wanted to. Just like I cannot kill you, and you cannot kill me. As such is the fate of bloodbound children.”
He seized a silver lock of her hair between his two fingers and affectionately descended to the tips. Ahna was left with her mouth agape. She had to process what Xandor had just admitted. The fact that he did not kill Thamias, that could only mean one thing...
Thamias still lives.
“What did you do to our brother?” Ahna asked the Prince of Mal.
“Meriel, Thamias never left the city! He’s been right here, all along.” Her brother pointed to below him with a sardonic smile.
Ahna realized what he had implied. Before she could ask anything more, he leaned closer to her. This was their chance. But while Ahna focused on her mission, the dokkalfar prince had seized an unidentified object from the back of his belt.
Ahna called for Cedric with the full force of her mind. She knew very well Cedric had been here with her the whole time. She knew he could feel all she felt, could hear all the things she heard. Xandor, her brother. Thamias, the Dragonborn, their brother. The fall of Bravoure at the hands of the curse of the House of Sharr from the province of Mal. But she felt it, she felt Cedric’s devotion and his eagerness to strike—this mission was too critical. Hold…
Xandor dived deep into Ahna’s eyes. “So, tell me, Meriel. I am the unkillable. So what are you really doing here?”
Ahna gasped as Xandor firmly gripped her shoulder with his right hand. With a sudden move, he shoved Ahna backwards and slowly pushed a rhodium needle through the middle of her throat. Ahna’s eyes snapped wide open as she screamed in pain. The needle seemed to pierce through her trachea and prevent her from gasping for air. She felt she could no longer breathe. She struggled to push her brother away.
Once the pain finally lessened, the needle locked itself at the edge of her vocal cords. Her arcane energy slipped through her fingers. She felt the reach of Cedric slowly evanesce as her bond had abruptly been ruptured. A wave of dizziness overtook her, and she clung to Xandor as so not to fall. She was severely weakened. Her sight diminished.
Tempest of Bravoure: Kingdom Ascent Page 13
