by T L Drew
‘I’m sorry you had to do that, Your Grace.’ Nazir uttered words of condolences to the king as he trudged behind him in the snow, Hakon’s voice growing fainter as he was dragged away.
‘It had to be done – how many more people will die if I let him remain free?’ Andor asked, even though he was already wondering whether he had done the right thing. He loved Hakon Grey – he couldn’t help it, despite everything, despite his wicked ways and his disobeying of orders. ‘You’ll have a hard time doing so, but when you can, you must pry the ring from his finger; it could be the reason as to why this is all happening.’
‘The ring, Your Grace?’
‘The ring on his finger is cursed.’ Andor informed his companion as they entered the sanctity of Stone Keep. ‘It will allow him to do things no mortal man can do, so prying it from him will prove a challenge. When you and your men are ready, take it from him, and bring it to me.’
‘There was no ring on his finger. Your Grace.’ Nazir remembered, raking his mind. ‘I am certain of it.’
‘Then Hakon has hidden it. Find it; scour every inch of the castle.’
‘Yes, of course, my king.’ Nazir was quick to agree, although he barely understood. ‘There is one more thing that requires your attention, Your Grace. A letter arrived this morning, on the foot of a raven.’ The armoured guard revealed a sealed piece of parchment. As they moved their way through the twisting corridors lined with flaming torches, the young guard placed the letter into Andor’s frozen hands. ‘I have not opened it.’ Nazir assured.
Andor Grey pried open the parchment. The words sent a chill down his spine, but he kept his face straight and his eyes void of emotion. He wouldn’t let his people see the fear in him. He was strong and brave.
Each word stuck in his head like a parasite. The writing was careful and small. It said, King Kodran of the six kingdoms of Askavold, butcher of the cursed bloods, slaver of mankind, usurper, I call for you to ride north, beyond the Great Gates of Tholon, to North Rock. I wait for you. Come to me, surrender Askavold, and bend the knee to the rightful Queen of Askavold. Come before me and swear your fealty, or you and your people will burn for your crimes against my family. – Caeda Lienhart, the rightful Queen of Askavold.
THORBJORN
The Sky Knight could feel his heart beating wildly in his ears as he ran, sweat beading down his porcelain skin. Thorbjorn Grey ran across the Solitude soil as fast as his legs would carry him. Although the Sky Knight was a master swordsman and he was stronger than most men, the twenty-nine-year-old man was slow in his sprint; he was muscular and broad, and his legs struggled to carry him. He knew that the Afterling were searching for him; he had heard every word his bastard cousin had said to them, and what he could do with the ring upon his finger.
Thorbjorn suddenly regretted not cutting the ring from Goran’s finger while he had the chance. If he had, he supposed he wouldn’t be running for his life, to find his bloody bird as an only means of escape from the haunting, sickening island.
The young knight could only begin to comprehend the torture they would subject him to learn if Goran’s words were true, and how long it would take them before they inevitable killed him for his betrayal of the white-eyed men. He wondered if the Master of Solitude would wear Thorbjorn’s skin upon his face after they butchered him, and whether he would still be alive when they took it. He didn’t plan on letting them capture him to find out; he urged his legs as fast as they would carry him, through twisting trees, the hammering rain and over small hills laced with pine trees, careful not to stray too far from the coastline. He knew it was where Aela would be circling, if his bird had waited for him. She had never left without him before, and he prayed this would not be the first time.
He didn’t know how long he had been running for. Thorbjorn was cold and wet, his feet blistered and his heart hurt inside of his chest. His furs were soaked through from the heavy Solitude rain and his body was clad in sweat. His body felt like it was on fire. The night was silent, but the wind whispered with promises of blood, and Thorbjorn readied himself for any Afterling he might face. He had been lucky so far as not to meet with the white-eyed men that frightened him like no other.
The clouds blocked the light from the glaring moon, shrouding Thorbjorn in utter darkness. He drew his fine blade from his holster; footsteps running and crunching over the fallen branches and the blanket of pine needles reverberated through the forest, closer and closer, coupled by quiet, gruff voices that could only be the Afterling that hunted him. The Sky Knight took a deep breath, pressed his broad back to a rough pine, and closed his eyes, waiting. The footsteps over the forest floor loomed closer; the young man waited and waited, closer and closer, grasping his rough hands tighter around the handle of his blade. There were two of them; Thorbjorn could hear each step they took, each word they whispered, searching for him. ‘He’s close,’ one of them spoke, his voice barely a whisper. They were following his tracks. ‘I can smell him.’
Thorbjorn took a deep, silent breath, opening his cobalt eyes. They were rapidly approaching from behind the pine that the young knight hid behind. They were so close he could hear their breathing.
The knight stepped out from behind the tree, swinging his blade in the darkness, cutting through the bitter air. The blade collided with skin; Thorbjorn felt the longsword slicing across the rounded gut of one of the Afterling soldiers, spilling his blood like spilt wine. He threw his hands to his stomach as he tried to hold his guts inside of his body. Thorbjorn swung his sword for a second time as his other opponent gazed upon his dying companion in the darkness and swung his scythe in Thorbjorn’s direction. The Sky Knight was too fast for him; his blade met with the neck of the second Afterling solider before his scythe could even meet with Thorbjorn’s skin. He felt his blade wedging into the man’s neck, fixed in place. His blood sprayed over Thorbjorn’s icy face, catching in his eyes. The knight ripped the blade from the Afterling man with all his might as he was washed in a shower of crimson, stabbing each man as he fell to the floor, to make certain they were truly dead.
Taking a deep, laboured breath, the Sky Knight shook his blade free of blood and wiped the ruby liquid from his face with the backs of his wintry hands. Once again, he holstered his blade, and broke into a desperate run.
He kept running for what felt like days even though only hours had passed him by, until he could hear Aela once more over the top of the forbidding island of horrors.
The southern knight followed the quiet sounds of his beloved bird; he could hear Aela close by, flying over the island in search of her master, but she was still plagued with the same fear that caused the loyal creature to fly from his side in the first place. He prayed she was close by as he ran towards her distant squawking, crying out for her master.
‘Aela!’ Thorbjorn shouted as he ran perilously, his heart thumping in his sore chest. He could hear Goran’s words playing back in his mind on repeat like a cruel nightmare, his promises to the Afterling, his desperation to return to the south and take the throne from Thorbjorn’s beloved cousin, the anger in his voice. He had to escape Solitude Island with haste, to return to his king’s side, to tell Andor Grey of the dangers to come. The Afterling had never left Solitude since they had been cast away to the island, forbidden to leave, and now they had a reason to, a reason to fight, a reason to kill mankind, and a person who would lead them. ‘Aela! Aela!’ Thorbjorn screamed with the chance of being heard by Goran and his new army, spying his bird circling overhead through the breaks in the trees.
This time, his bird heard his desperate call. She glared down at the soil and saw no other sign of life, no one who caused her fright. The bird had grown fearful, but Aela was quick to swoop downwards towards her master as she saw that Thorbjorn Grey was entirely alone.
‘Good girl!’ Thorbjorn shouted over the roaring wind as Aela flew closer, the silver glare of her feathers in his cobalt eyes. ‘Come on now, girl! Come on!’
The silver beast landed upon the
Solitude soil; Thorbjorn leapt upon her back and kicked her forward, taking the creature back to the skies without delay. He knew the way home like the back of his hand, and guided her south as she flew higher into the starless night sky. He urged her to ride faster.
‘Where is he? Where is the Sky Knight?’ Thorbjorn heard a deep voice shouting through the trees as he flew across the ocean on Aela’s silvery back. His heart skipped a beat as he recognised the Master’s frightful voice echoing through the dark skies. They had heard him shouting for Aela, hot on his trail. ‘Thorbjorn Grey! Your king wishes to speak with you! Come out, boy!’
Thorbjorn did not listen. He lowered his head as the wind cut through his hair, the rain crashing into his eyes. He prayed they did not see him in the skies, that they looked for him in the forest, but his prayers were not answered.
Arrows suddenly took to the skies.
Aela cried as an arrow pierced her silver wing. Thorbjorn’s eyes were drawn to the wound upon his griffin and panic coursed through his veins. They were searching for him, and they had seen him in the skies, the silver glare of Aela’s feathers catching their gaze. ‘Come on girl, keep going! Let’s go home!’ Thorbjorn shouted at his bird with desperation as arrows soared past them, his heart beating wildly inside of his pain-stricken chest. Aela’s flight grew faster despite the pain in her wing.
Thorbjorn realised that the only person who knew of Goran’s new army was him. Goran knew that Thorbjorn would tell Andor Grey all he needed to know, and Goran Grey had given his cousin a death sentence. Thorbjorn flew for his life, and for Andor’s. ‘Come on now Aela, you have to fly straight!’ He shouted at his bird as she began to waver. A second arrow met with Aela’s silvery feathers. She squawked in agony as blood began to stain her silver feathers and drip into the skies.
A third arrow hit her, and the bird was shot from the dark sky.
Thorbjorn and Aela tumbled perilously through the bitter air. He tried to hold on to her as she screeched in pain as they flailed in a freefall through the wintry sky. His hands slipped from her silvery feathers and his body crashed into the icy sea, his body smacking into the white horses on the ocean surface. Thorbjorn felt himself disappear underneath the surface of the frozen ocean, his body drifting down into the darkness as his body refused to move. He drifted downwards and downwards, until everything went black.
MARGOT
For the first time since the death of King Kodran, the weather in the south had twisted back into what it once was, a heavy snow, a powerful wind and a biting cold pushing into the south Askavold from the Frozen Isles, and still, despite what his council had urged, Andor Grey planned to go ahead with his travels north, despite the snow and wind that had returned to his lands.
Margot had heard her husband’s reckless plans, to ride hard through the south on the king’s road and ride due north, towards the hot desert north, to meet with one of the few remaining cursed bloods that had survived the Great War. Riding to his own death, she believed. Margot knew her husband was hasty and impulsive, but she wouldn’t try and talk him out of it, like his council did.
The queen’s eyes were dry without a single salty tear to cry – what she felt was not sadness, but more so a feeling like she was supposed to feel sad, a wife’s duty. May he perish in the north, painfully, alone and frightened...she thought cruelly, almost praying to gods she did not believe in, gazing at her husband as he quarrelled with his council, begging their king to remain in his city as they stood in the king’s study, watching as Andor Grey fought back with eagerness to depart, to ride to his own death.
Margot hated the way the bony crown sat upon her husband’s dark head – she liked the way her own crown appeared, quainter, prettier, the undeniable mark of a queen, but stood next to her husband, she knew that it was not Andor Grey she wished to be standing beside. She gazed up at him as his angered voice carried through the dimly lit study, taking in his every feature, the light scars on his face from his father’s beatings, the straightness of his nose, the fullness of his rosy coloured lips, the light brown beard growing on his broad chin...she couldn’t deny the king’s attractiveness, but he was not the man she loved, the man who had convinced her of what needed to be done – that Andor Grey had to die.
The Queen of Askavold and her lover had been plotting before the death of the old King Kodran; a plan that had never quite come together, and without the man she loved at her side, she was finding it even harder. After the affair that had come to light between Margot and the eldest son of King Kodran, if Andor was to die, she would be the first suspect. She would surely hang – Andor was a loved king, not like his predecessor, but now Andor was riding to his own death, and she thought about all she would do, in the likely event that her husband didn’t return. Margot would be the queen, and her children would rule after she did. She would change her husband’s laws and make the world the way she wanted it for her children when they would sit upon the throne. Her full lips twisted into a subtle smile as she thought about his death, hoping his council would not see.
‘My queen will rule in my stead, with my uncle’s incarceration,’ Andor said to his council, even as she stood beside him, ‘but I trust that you will all make certain that no laws are changed, no harm is brought to my city, and that everything remains the same as it was when I left upon my return. Nazir will guard you, closely.’ Andor’s gaze fell upon his wife, and his voice grew quieter. ‘Any decisions to be made will be left to Lord Emery Steel. I trust him.’
‘How long have you known this man?’ Margot probed, her dark eyes finding the fat, middle-aged Lord of Hollows Keep.
‘That matters not, Margot.’ The king was quick to say, his eyes narrowing at his wife. ‘Hakon was the man to rule in my stead, before this fucking mess, and now the job is to be left to Emery Steel. He has been loyal to my House for decades, and so was his predecessors.’
‘I thank you, Your Grace.’ The overweight lord bowed his head.
Margot took a careful step closer to the King of Askavold. ‘You said the rule will be left to me, and yet you don’t trust me to rule?’
Andor’s full lips turned into a smile. ‘I don’t trust you to do anything,’ he told her, in front of his council, ‘but you are the queen, and it is your duty to sit on my throne and warm it for me until my return.’
If you return, she thought, but she hoped not. ‘Very well.’
‘If a decision is to be made, Emery Steel will make it, and you’ll deliver his decision. You won’t leave the city, and you’ll do as Lord Steel and Nazir command – is that understood?’
‘Understood, my king.’ Margot uttered with frustration, her eyes flaring with anger at her husband as the King of Askavold twisted on his steel heel and turned to face his concerned council.
‘Caeda Lienhart is expecting King Kodran to meet with her at the palace of North Rock.’ Andor said, a nervousness in his voice that Margot had never heard before. ‘Perhaps when she sees that my father is dead, and that he died at my hand, she will see that we are allies, not enemies. I will tell her that I dismantled the throne of bones and I had Ragnar’s bones buried on the hill, and that her eldest brother Rob is alive, upon the Frozen Isles. I will tell her of all her brothers and her sisters that are very much alive. That will mean something.’
‘What if she is as unpredictable as her father was, Your Grace?’ Lord Emery Steel questioned, taking a step closer towards his king. ‘I knew him well, and you were too young.’
‘I was old enough,’ the king said surely – he was old enough to remember the time he spent with Ragnar, old enough to remember the excited days for the old king’s regular visits to the south, old enough to remember Kodran cutting off the old king’s head. He was old enough to remember how much blood had flashed before his young eyes. Margot could see the anger flashing in Andor’s eyes at the remembrance. ‘I was twelve years old, my lord, and I remember everything.’
‘Then you know the dangers you will be facing in the north.’
&n
bsp; ‘Ragnar was not a threat to this realm until man turned on him,’ the king said as though he was spitting a bitter taste from his tongue, ‘and neither will Caeda Lienhart, once she sees that this realm will no longer turn on her, for what she is, while I sit upon the throne. There is a new world upon the horizon, my friends, where the cursed and mankind will once again be at peace with one another.’
‘You wish to align our kingdom with the cursed?’ One of his advisor asked, like it was a secret.
‘I have made my intentions well known.’ Andor said through gritted teeth, clouded with a familiar frustration. ‘We have nothing to fear from them, once they see we are no longer a danger, and that we are remorseful for what happened to their kind. We must assure them that we are not the same as our fathers were, and then we will have peace.’
Margot disagreed with her husband fiercely, but she would not speak of it, not when her husband was due to find himself dead in the north, proven wrong. The queen dared not to sway his mind. However, Andor’s council weren’t as quiet as she was. ‘But Your Grace, you know the dangers they pose, how unpredictable they can be…’
Andor Grey said nothing. He knew of the risks – he had expressed them to his wife. He knew that he was putting his life in peril by leaving Tronenpoint and meeting with cursed blood who called herself queen, but he believed there was little choice. He wouldn’t see his realm burn – and he wanted to see her for himself, with his own eyes, so he had said. Andor loved his land, and he cared for his people more than Kodran Grey ever did, and in truth, he had been waiting for this moment. Margot did not know why. The King of Askavold had said that if he could locate his cousin’s whereabouts along the way, it was surely worth the risk. It was one of the things Margot did admire about her husband; he was willing to risk all for the lands he loved, even if he held misguided beliefs.
